Bittersweet and Strange
by UndiscoveredQueen19
Summary: Trapped to share the same cursed fate in a world ruled by Voldemort, Draco and Hermione find that their differences are what make them similar and that their flaws are what make them whole.  Dramione AU with a Beauty and the Beast twist.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: The Curse

Summary: In a world ruled by Lord Voldemort, Draco and Hermione find that their differences are what make them similar and that their flaws are what make them whole. Dramione AU with a BATB twist.

* * *

Bittersweet and Strange

Dark. Everything was dark.

There was pain and blood and tears, as well as shouting and cursing, in addition to the dark, but Draco Malfoy found that if he focused on the dark, the pain and blood and tears didn't seem quite as bad.

Another sharp kick, this time to his shoulder. Then another, and another, and soon he found the comforting darkness slipping away as the relentless fury pounded him. Someone took a fistful of his hair and jerked his head up, and Draco peeled his eyes open to see what misfortune he was about to undergo. It was a mistake. No sooner had he opened his eyes when he saw the wand of Alecto Carrow heading straight for his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, steeling himself for whatever unbearable torture was to come next.

He had already heard the word _Crucio_ enough times to deafen him, and he had felt its effects to the extent that he could no longer scream, his voice effectively gone. He couldn't even stand up on his own; Thorfinn Rowle had been nice enough to lash him to a tree so that he wouldn't fall again.

The knife-sharp end of Alecto's wand sliced into his forehead, and Draco briefly wondered if he would look ridiculous silently screaming. Alecto twisted her wand to the left, carving a long, straight line across his forehead. She then made short, vertical slices across the long line, giving the illusion of stitches that had been violently ripped out. Draco couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't even open his eyes. So this was what Charity Burbage had endured, he thought.

Voldemort had won. Draco had spent years thinking that was a sentence he would have celebrated hearing, but now that the grim reality of a world run by the Dark Lord had become truth, Draco despised the sound of Voldemort's name. With Harry Potter dead, Voldemort had gone on a rampage, publicly murdering every blood traitor and Muggleborn he could find. Most, if not all, of the Weasleys were dead, and Molly's body had been left in the streets for weeks, as an example of what happened to anyone who killed Voldemort's favorite Death Eater. McGonagall was publicly executed, along with several other teachers, students, and parents who had aided Harry Potter. Draco had heard a rumor that one of the Weasley twins had survived, along with one or two of the third generation Weasleys. If those rumors were to be believed, then the survivors were hiding with everyone else who had escaped Voldemort's wrath. There weren't many.

However, it was hard for Draco to pity the Order's losses when he himself was suffering as the Death Eaters' punching bag at the moment.

The torture lasted for hours. By the end of the ordeal, Draco had no doubt that even his own mother would not recognize him were she to see him. Someone cut his ropes and let him fall to the ground like a sack, then hoisted him over their shoulder and carried him several yards before throwing him to the ground again. Draco didn't know what was about to happen, but he hoped Voldemort would just _Avada Kedavra_ him and be done with it.

It wasn't to be so. Voldemort emerged from the group of Death Eaters, head held high and tapping his wand against his free hand casually. Draco managed to pull his head up and give Voldemort a defiant glare before his head lolled down again.

Voldemort stood directly in front of Draco and sneered. "You pitiful excuse for a human being." His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Draco. "You dared to defy my reign, and now you have paid the price."

Draco wished he had the strength to stand up and punch Voldemort right in his nonexistent nose.

"You will not die, young Malfoy," Voldemort continued, lowering his wand to touch the top of Draco's bloodied hair. "In death, you become a martyr. No, you shall live in shame. There will be no friend who will stand by you. You will find no comfort, no ease to your suffering. You will live the rest of your days as a scarred, disgraced parasite, trapped in your own home."

Voldemort turned to face the Death Eaters, who stood around him, cackling and twitching like so many mantises. "Listen well, all of you!" Voldemort shouted, filling the night air with his presence. He raised his hands to the sky. "I call upon the forces of the air, the sea, and the earth to make this house a living graveyard to the aspirations of those who dare challenge my leadership! Smother this castle in darkness, never again to see daylight on its rooftops. Let it be wrapped in gloominess and silence as long as it stands. Let the smell of death envelope this property with its foul stench, driving away every last hope of renewal. Let the thorns and thistles of the earth rise up to crush their roses; let them twine around every tower, bar every door and window and trap their traitorous prisoner inside. Let all who see this house be reminded that the dark Lord Voldemort is the ruler of the land, and that he will exact vengeance on those who seek to destroy him. Let all see this useless scum, this wretched excuse of a man, this Death Eater who could not stand on his own decisions. Let all see this scarred outcast who shall live the rest of his days cursing his own betrayal. Let all see Draco Malfoy, the boy who shall live in death!"

The Death Eaters cheered, raising their wands and sending sparks up toward the black sky. Voldemort laughed hollowly as he turned back to Draco, his eyes narrowing as he knelt beside him and lifted Draco's head. Draco tried to gather the strength to spit in Voldemort's face, but he had none left. Voldemort gave him a wicked smile, then shouted, " _Crucio!_ " as he stood.

One by one, the Death Eaters Apparated away, laughing and jeering as they went. Draco didn't even watch them go. He simply curled into himself on his front steps, pretending that he wasn't cut and bruised and bleeding like a river. He closed his eyes and let the warm, sweet darkness take him away again.

* * *

A figure in a hooded black cloak crept along silently through the shadows, casting a glance behind them to make sure they weren't being followed. Pressing against the great stone wall, the figure inched along, turning their head around the corner of the house to check the yard ahead.

Narcissa gasped sharply and threw her hood back as soon as she realized the Death Eaters were finally gone. She had been waiting for hours, listening and sobbing silently as Voldemort and the rest of them tortured her son to unconsciousness. Now, she flew across the yard, tears streaming down her cheeks as she reached Draco, lying on the front steps and wearing blood like a coat.

She gently turned him to face her, feeling his wrist for a pulse. She had heard Voldemort say he wouldn't kill Draco, but she still breathed a sigh of relief upon feeling a pulse, albeit a weak one.

Narcissa sighed as she looked up at Draco's home. He had moved out of the Manor several years ago and had been living in a somewhat smaller but still lavish house. Now, covering his tall, elegant wooden doors were vines as thick as tree trunks, adorned by enormous, razor-sharp thorns. Those same vines wrapped around the tower on the right side of the house and crossed his windows in a tangled mess.

She sighed again. The damage to the house was not nearly as great as the damage done to Draco. Narcissa quickly pulled out her wand and began healing his wounds. The whole process took her nearly twenty minutes, but when she was satisfied that he wouldn't bleed to death, she stood and faced the house. It was to be Draco's prison for the rest of his life, unless Narcissa had anything to say about it. She was suddenly glad that Lucius was not alive to stop her, for he would have let his own son die before letting himself be disgraced.

She calmly raised her wand and closed her eyes, whispering an incantation that she had used once before. It was a reversing charm, allowing the user to alter whatever curse had been placed, provided it was done within an hour of the first curse. Narcissa had been worried that the Death Eaters would not leave within an hour, but they had. And now she was thwarting their plan. Draco would be trapped in his home, yes; but the curse could now be broken.

If someone who fell in love with Draco could declare their love for him, the curse would be broken.

Had she been able to, Narcissa would have freed Draco from his fate and left for another country with him immediately. However, her magic was not as strong as Voldemort's, and she could only pray that her altering spell would be potent. It was Draco's only chance.

When the charm was in place, Narcissa turned to pluck a single rose from the ground. It had been overtaken by Voldemort's thorns, but Narcissa was confident that she could enchant it to be whole again.

With that, Narcissa levitated Draco back into the house to care for him. She decided not to tell him about the altering spell; he might give up hope if he knew he had get someone to fall in love with him to be free, and Narcissa wanted to keep his hope alive for as long as possible. And even if no one fell in love with him and broke the curse, she would stand by him until her last day, curse or no curse.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading the first installment in my newest story, "Bittersweet and Strange!" I really enjoy doing drabbles and lighthearted stuff, so a darker AU like this is new for me. Tell me what you think in the comments! Any input is greatly appreciated! Love you all!

Chapter Question: What do you think Draco did to get him out of the good graces of Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Let me know what your opinion is!


	2. Chapter 1: In the Enemy's Camp

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. This should be obvious to you since I am writing fanfiction and not novels.

* * *

Bittersweet and Strange

The hustling and bustling, chattering and clattering of the Order's home base was normally a comforting sound to Hermione, but she was finding it somewhat annoying on this particular Tuesday morning.

Dean Thomas passed her seat at the conference table, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He spoke to Michael Corner as he passed, pressing himself to the side to make room for Michael. When he did, some of his coffee sloshed out of the mug and right onto the paper Hermione had in front of her.

"Dean!" she snapped, gingerly picking the paper up by one corner and watching it drip onto the smooth tabletop. "Why can't you watch where you're going?"

Dean gave her an odd look, surprised by her uncharacteristic outburst. "Merlin, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to, honest."

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to snap like that."

"Don't worry about it," Dean shrugged. "We're all a bit stressed these days."

Hermione snorted in agreement as Dean walked away. _Stressed_ hardly began to describe the matter.

In the seven years since the Second Wizarding War's end, the Order had been holed up in Lee Jordan's uncle's old summer home in Northern Ireland. There, they had spent their first three years in hiding, seeking out and rescuing the weak remnant of Voldemort's opposition. It hadn't been an easy task – they had lost Zacharias Smith and Alicia Spinnet to patrolling Death Eaters – but they had managed to piece the living members of the Order back together. The faithful few who lived in the Fortress, as they called their base, clung to one another for hope and encouragement. It was harder and harder to keep the faith, though; everyone in the Order had lost someone, most of them their entire families.

Sighing to herself, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a drying spell on the paper. It still sported a prominent brown coffee stain, but it was still legible. She was reaching into her bag for a pencil when she felt someone take the seat next to her.

"Whatcha doin', Granger?"

Hermione looked up to see George Weasley giving her a curious smile. He was glancing at the paper on the table, and Hermione quickly flipped it over. "It's top secret, Weasley," she shot back, feigning annoyance. If there was one person she found it impossible to be angry with, it was George Weasley. The poor fellow had been forced to stand by and watch as his entire family was slaughtered by Voldemort's supporters, yet he still managed to keep smiling and be a bringer of joy to the Order. Besides, his smile was infectious.

George grinned at her again, leaning back in his chair. "Come on, we don't have secrets from each other here."

"You'll find out along with everyone else at the meeting," Hermione countered.

"But that's only in a few minutes!"

"Then it won't kill you to wait." Merlin, she loved making a good point.

George nodded his head to concede and turned to speak to Oliver Wood. Hermione dug out the pencil she had been fishing for and plopped a set of papers on the table just as Neville Longbottom was taking his usual seat at the head of the table. Ever since Harry's death, Neville had stepped up to lead the Order, and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised at what a strong and effective leader he had become. Neville cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, everybody, take a seat and we'll get started," he announced.

Hermione covertly pulled the top sheet of her paper stack upside-down to hide its contents, and George smirked at her. Luna Lovegood took the seat to Hermione's left and smiled vacantly at Hermione, glancing down at the papers before looking at Neville.

"Morning, guys," Neville greeted. "I know this is a little earlier than we usually have our weekly meetings, but Hermione asked me if we could start early because she's got a special announcement." Hermione looked down as all the heads in the room turned toward her. "But before we get into that," he continued, "Cho, have you heard anything from Katie Bell since the last meeting?"

Cho Chang was the only one in touch with the Order's one contact in the Ministry, Katie Bell. Katie alerted Cho anytime the Order was in danger of being found, and Cho, in turn, kept a close eye on Katie's safety as a spy. Cho shook her head at Neville's question. "I haven't heard anything."

Millicent Bulstrode piped up from the corner of the table, "That makes eight weeks without word. Can't we just owl her with the Ministry's stolen owl?"

"No," Luna stated. "It's too dangerous. If anyone else were to see the message, Katie's life could be in serious jeopardy, right, Neville?"

Neville smiled at her. "Absolutely, Luna. It's a good thought, Millicent, but we can't risk losing Katie. She's our only contact in the Ministry right now. If we lose her, I doubt we're going to find anyone else."

Millicent nodded, but Hermione thought she still looked disturbed.

"So," Neville said, addressing Michael Corner, "how are we doing with getting in touch with Pomona Sprout? Any word from Yugoslavia?"

Michael nodded enthusiastically. "I got a note just yesterday, Neville. Our contact there said Sprout is doing well and is living in a Muggle neighborhood with her sister and cousin. I don't think we should try to get in touch with her; it could endanger her safety for her to have any contact with the Wizarding World. However, our contact said he would let Sprout know that we know she's alive and would send her our best wishes."

There was a quiet hum through the room as everyone nodded appreciatively. After the executions of Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, Sprout was the only Hogwarts teacher living. The Order had taken it upon themselves to ensure her safety.

"That's good news," Neville said. "Does anyone have anything to add?"

No one did, so Hermione started mentally preparing for what she was about to say.

Right on cue, Neville looked at Hermione and nodded. "Okay. I think Hermione has something important to tell us all. Hermione?"

Hermione nodded back, managing a faint smile before standing and picking up her stack of papers. Speaking in public always made her a bit nervous, even if she did consider the Order her family. "Thanks, Neville. I'm sure you all remember four years ago when we began our search for Dennis Creevey?" Most of the Order nodded in agreement. "Then I'm sure you remember how it ended. Dennis was one of the last to be declared dead, mainly because nobody could find him. That, plus his blood status as a muggleborn, led us to believe he was probably killed in either the Battle of Hogwarts or in one of the rampages the Death Eaters made in the days following the battle. Cho, if I remember correctly, Katie was unable to find his name on any of the execution lists?"

Cho nodded. "He wasn't recorded in any of the prisons or the slave markets, either."

"Right. And, considering the fact that he was both a muggleborn _and_ a member of the Order, it's pretty unlikely that the New Ministry would have let him slip through the cracks. I know I, for one, was on the most wanted list for years after the War. It wasn't until Parvati used that clever transfiguration trick on the muggleborn girl who was already dead that Voldemort finally was convinced that I was gone. Justin Finch-Fletchley was pursued much the same way, you'll recall."

"Okay, you've made your point," Romilda Vane said impatiently. "Dennis Creevey had a lot working against him and has probably been dead since the beginning. Where are you going with this?"

Hermione stared her down as she spoke. "I'm saying this: Dennis is alive."

There was silence in the conference room for several seconds before Neville spoke quietly. "How do you know that, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Because I saw him myself."

Whatever sense of politeness had been keeping the room in silence suddenly burst apart. It seemed everyone was talking at once, but no one could hear what anyone else was saying. Neville finally managed to shout over the din and make everyone sit down. He directed his question to Hermione. "How did you see Dennis?"

This was the tricky part. "I was in Diagon Alley," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I had run out of knotgrass for the Polyjuice Potions we need for next month, so I –"

"Going into enemy territory without telling anyone is against the rules," Angelina Johnson interrupted. "You could have been seen, Hermione!"

"I was very careful," Hermione assured her. "I transfigured my features and covered my hair and wore glasses and an old robe. I wasn't about to risk my life for a potion ingredient."

Hermione's reassuring words did little to calm Angelina. "All it takes is one person spotting you and putting the pieces together. We have these rules for a reason!"

"It's okay, Ange," George said. "Just let her finish."

Neville agreed. "We'll talk about the rule-breaking later. For now, just tell us about Dennis."

Hermione gave him a grateful nod before plowing ahead with her story. "On the way to the shop, I passed by a pavilion where a man was selling muggle and muggleborn slaves. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to get a look at the place and see the people who were being sold, and I saw Dennis with them."

Dean shook his head. "It's been seven years, Hermione. It could have been anybody. You said yourself Dennis was probably dead."

"I know it was him, Dean," Hermione answered. "But I knew it would be hard to believe, so I took a very discreet picture. I had brought my bag with me, and my camera was in it." Hermione reached down and flipped the paper over that George had been looking at earlier. "I've enlarged it as much as I could without losing the quality. Tell me what you think."

Hermione slid the paper toward Neville, who picked it up and examined it closely. Those seated near him craned their necks to see. George leaned over to Hermione and whispered, "Now I know why you didn't want me to see it yet."

After several long moments of silence, Neville passed the picture to Parvati and looked up. "When was this picture taken, Hermione?"

"Last week," she replied. "I believe it was Friday. I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to make absolutely sure it was him before I got everyone excited. And before I got myself in trouble," she added, shooting a meaningful smile at Angelina.

"That was four days ago," Neville said seriously. "That's easily long enough for Dennis to be sold."

"I know that," Hermione said. "But, like I said, I wanted to make sure it was him before I told anyone." Everyone looked at her curiously, save for Nigel Wolpert, who was staring intently at the photograph. "I took the liberty of asking the slave master for a list of the slaves he had, and he let me look at it."

"What?!" This time, it was Lee Jordan who leaped to his feet in disbelief. "You _spoke_ to someone? A slave trader? In public?"

"I know, I know, it was risky," Hermione conceded.

"More than risky," George added.

"Hermione, you're on Voldemort's most-wanted list," Angelina said. "Even if he thinks you're dead, all it takes is one little slip-up for you to be discovered. And once one of us is discovered, all of us are in a lot more danger."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But I –"

"This is him!" Nigel suddenly shouted. "I know it is!"

Neville looked at him seriously. "Are you positive?"

Nigel nodded excitedly. "Of course I'm positive! I shared a room with him for four years! I'd know him anywhere. It's definitely him."

Nigel's enthusiasm drew several more people to stand, gathering around the photograph that Neville had picked up again. Hermione took her seat once more, shuffling through her papers and finding the one she was looking for with ease.

"Cho, what do you think?" Neville asked. "You saw him a good deal at the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Cho furrowed her brow as she studied the picture. "Well… it's been a long time, but the resemblance is definitely there."

Neville nodded, then looked at George. "George, go get Fleur. She and Seamus are on watch duty up at the North Tower. Tell her we need her to identify someone."

George quickly stood and Apparated to fetch his sister-in-law. Neville turned back to Nigel. "Not to discredit your word, Nigel. It's just been a long time, and we need to make sure it's him before we make any decisions."

Nigel nodded. "I understand. But I'm telling you, there's no question in my mind; that's Dennis Creevey if I ever saw him."

A few moments later, Fleur Weasley Apparated into the room with George, looking flustered but excited.

Neville stepped toward her and handed her the picture. "Fleur, who does the man in this picture look like to you?"

Fleur studied the photograph for only a few seconds before declaring, "Ees thees Dennis Creevey?"

Hermione sighed in relief, and Neville seemed to do the same. "Yeah, we think so, Fleur. Thanks. We'll update you as soon as we've got everything figured out."

Fleur smiled and nodded before Apparating back to her guardpost.

"Well?" Hermione asked. "What more proof do you need? Fleur knew him on sight."

Neville nodded. "I know. All right, I think we've got enough evidence to at least investigate. I guess we'll get a group of five together –"

"I think I should go alone," Hermione interjected.

Another long moment of silence. Neville simply stared at her, while others began to shake their heads or open their mouths. Luna beat them to it.

"Why do you say that, Hermione?" she asked curiously.

Hermione smiled at her gratefully. "Well, I've thought about it a lot, and as we've said, it's very dangerous to go out in public. It would be even more dangerous for a group of us to go. Like Angelina said, if one of us is discovered, it puts us all in danger."

Angelina frowned. "I was talking about going off by yourself without telling anyone. I didn't mean –"

"I know," Hermione said. "I wasn't trying to twist your words, but there's a lot of truth to them. The more unfamiliar wizards are seen together, the more suspicious people are going to get. Plus, even if we disguised ourselves through Polyjuice or transfiguration, there is always the chance we could slip up. No plan is perfect, especially when there are a lot of people involved. Secondly, Neville, I'm not trying to challenge you, but what five people are you going to get? When we were doing our rescue missions so frequently in the three years after the War, it was a lot easier to get big missions like that done. For one thing, the Death Eaters were much more unprofessional and easy to fool because they weren't set up as well as they are now. My main point here is that we aren't as expendable as we used to be. I'm not saying anyone was ever truly expendable, but we're much more organized now, and if we lose someone for awhile on a mission – or even permanently to the unthinkable – it's going to be a very grave difference."

Neville frowned at her. "Hermione, are you suggesting that, out of all of us, you're the most expendable?"

"Not exactly," she responded, trying to ease the tension. "I'm just saying that if you, Neville, were to be gone for a while, it would take a lot of people from their various positions to take your place during that time. And Cho – who would correspond with Katie if she left? And Luna is irreplaceable when it comes to keeping the wards intact. Michael has contacts all over the world that might need him at a moment's notice. George is busy with the supply rations. Fleur has Teddy Lupin and Victoire to think of. The list goes on! Everyone here has a position that they are responsible for, and that position is imperative to keeping the Order going. If anyone here is expendable, it's me," she finished, looking meaningfully at Neville.

"No, you're not," he argued. "You keep the Order going as much as I do, or anyone else, for that matter. You keep all the records and distribute the money, and your impact is more felt than seen. I couldn't even begin to describe all the things you do, Hermione!"

"Neville's right," Parvati said, keeping her eyes on Hermione. "No one could replace you, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "Nigel has been helping me a lot with the bookkeeping; it'll be good for him to have some practice with doing it solo. As for the money, Romilda handles it more than I do; I'm more of a go-between. If you remember, I was the one who coordinated most of the rescue missions in those early days. I've had more experience with them than nearly anyone here, except maybe Neville and Dean."

"Hermione," George said sincerely, "we know you're capable of going after Dennis. No one's questioning your abilities. It's just… you're the last of the Golden Trio living. If something happens to you, it will be like losing another family member."

Hermione could see the pain in his eyes and knew he was remembering his family's deaths, as well as Harry's. She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she wasn't sure that any of her words would be comforting. "I know, George. We've all lost countless members to the dark side, and the thought of losing any of you is heartbreaking to me, too. But think about Dennis. He's lost his whole family, too, but he hasn't had anyone to help him deal with it the way we've all had each other. He's all alone and being sold as a slave, and I for one can't stand the thought of it."

"No one is belittling Dennis' situation, Hermione," Neville said gently. "We just don't think you going after him alone is the answer."

"I know. But listen, I saw the slave pavilion when I was there Friday. I wandered all through it. I can see it all in my head. If we all went – or even if we went one at a time – it would take precious time for five people to memorize it and then formulate a plan to save Dennis."

"If you were so worried about Dennis, why did you wait this long?" Lee asked.

"I told you, I wanted to make sure," Hermione said. "If I had been wrong –"

"If you had been wrong, we would have ended up saving some other poor muggleborn who's in slavery and who happens to look like Dennis Creevey," Lee finished. "Do you plan on just getting Dennis, Hermione? Because when you get there and ten dirty children are sitting on the floor in chains and looking up at you pleadingly, you're not going to be able to leave hem behind. Then what? Are you going to stage a great slave escape? There's no way you could do that singlehandedly."

Hermione sighed. "I know, Lee. I've thought about that, too. But remember what our priority is? Get enough of the Order back together so we can take back the Wizarding World and defeat Voldemort? I promise I won't let my feelings get in the way, but we have a duty to Dennis to save him so he can join us. Plus, who knows where he's been? He may have some vital information to getting an advantage on the Death Eaters."

"You don't know that," Michael countered.

"I don't," she agreed. "But it's still worth a shot."

* * *

"Draco, dear, will you please eat something?"

Draco shook his head at Narcissa. "No, thank you, Mother. I'm just not hungry."

"That's what I'm worried about," Narcissa replied with a frown. "You've gotten so thin. Are you eating at all?"

Draco shrugged. "I eat enough."

Narcissa sighed. They were seated in Draco's kitchen table, a modest room comped to the rest of the house. It was Narcissa's weekly visit, the highlight of her week. She would have come every day, but Draco warned her not to push Voldemort's patience. Only in the last two years had the dark lord only allowed Narcissa to visit Draco at all.

Draco stood and started to take his and his mother's plates to the counter, but Narcissa stopped him. "Allow me," she smiled, levitating the plates to their destination.

"I'm not a child, Mother," Draco muttered, taking a seat once more. "I don't need you to do everything for me."

"Don't rob me of my chance to baby you while I'm here," she teased. "Besides, it's only fair that you have a little magical help when you can get it. I can't imagine how hard it is to live without a wand."

Draco shrugged again. The past five years had been spent teaching himself to do things 'the muggle way', as his wand had been taken by Voldemort. He had managed to learn a bit of wandless magic, but for the most part, he did any work manually.

Narcissa gave him a sad smile. "Draco, you seem down. What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" Draco echoed incredulously. "The matter is the same as it's been for the last five years. I'm trapped in my own home with no escape. I have no magic, no company, and no contact with the outside world. You're the only one I've seen in person for two years!"

"Now, that's not true," Narcissa said. "Why, only in the last year, I've managed to gain admittance for Blaise and Theodore."

"Yes," Draco grumbled. "Zabini and Nott. What bringers of cheer."

Narcissa frowned. Draco was not usually this cross with her. She had become accustomed to his foul moods ever since the beginning of the curse, but he had seemed particularly upset during her last few visits. "Draco, I can tell something is troubling you. More than usual, I mean. Has something happened?"

Draco scowled and put his head in his hands. "Mother… I feel like I'm going crazy! Every day is exactly the same!" He suddenly leaped to his feet and began pacing the room. "Voldemort cursed me in the hopes that I would commit suicide; I know it. He wanted to see how long I would last before I give in and end it all."

Narcissa looked disturbed. "Draco, I know this must be difficult, but –"

"Difficult?" he repeated. "Difficult?! This is hell, Mother! I live the exact same nightmare over and over! Every day I wake up and see my own hideous face, and I have to live knowing that I'm an enemy of every living creature on the earth. I am completely and utterly alone! I could live for a thousand years and never find peace. Even my dreams are haunted by that night! I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't think… It's like living in a recurring nightmare!"

"Draco, I know –"

"How could you know?" he snarled. "How could you possibly imagine? You have your magic, your freedom, your life. You could never know what I go through." He put his head in his hands again, grinding his fists against his face. "I wish Voldemort had killed me that night."

"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Don't say that!"

"It's true," he said, sounding more lost and afraid than angry now. "He put me here alive so I could be tortured and so I would learn my lesson. All I've learned is that living is worse than dying when you're cursed."

Narcissa looked away. She couldn't bear the sight of her son in such agony. She suddenly wished that she had told him about her own counter-curse, that he could have some far-off hope of redemption, but she dared not tell him. It would only serve to enrage him further.

"Perhaps you should consider a hobby, Drac-"

"A hobby?" he asked. "What, see how much uglier the scars get by the day? Find out what poisons kill a man the fastest? Raise a cockroach farm? There is no room in my life for happiness anymore, Mother. There's no room for anything but MISERY!" He reached onto his place at the kitchen table, grabbed his water glass, and hurled it against the wall in a fury. He stared at the broken pieces on the floor for a moment before slumping against the wall exhaustedly.

Narcissa stood silently and waved her wand at the glass, reassembling it and setting it on the table. Pocketing her wand, she walked to where Draco was leaning against the wall and pulled him into an embrace. He sagged against her, laying his head on her shoulder as if he were a child again.

"I'm doing it for you, Mother," he whispered hoarsely. "That's the only reason I haven't done myself in yet. For you."

Narcissa pulled back, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked him right in the eye. "I love you, Draco. Please remember that. One day, we'll find our happy ending."

* * *

"Now remember, no unnecessary risks," Neville repeated for the fourth time. "If anything happens and you need help, send a Patronus or just Apparate back. We won't put up any new wards until you get back."

Fleur nodded in agreement. "That ees right. I will make sure of that."

Hermione smiled gratefully at them. "Thank you."

It was Tuesday afternoon, and Hermione was preparing to leave for Diagon Alley. It had taken several more hours of arguing for Hermione to get the Order to see it her way, but Neville had finally agreed that Hermione's plan was a solid one. She had been given a Portkey, and Parvati had transfigured her features enough to be unrecognizable. She had strict instructions to locate Dennis is the slave pavilion and Apparate back to the Fortress with him the moment she found him. If Apparition wards were up, she was to immediately come back and tell them, at which time they would revert to the group of five plan. If Hermione couldn't find Dennis at the pavilion, she was to send a Patronus and tell them, at which time she could search for his records and find out where he was. It seemed to be a foolproof plan, as long as everything went the way they were expecting it to.

Hermione hugged Neville and Fleur goodbye. "We'll see you in a bit," Luna told her. Out of all the Order, Luna seemed not to be worried about the mission. "I've got a feeling it could lead to our success," she had said in the meeting.

After her goodbyes had been said, Hermione stepped to the center of the conference room to Apparate. She felt a wave of uneasiness wash over her suddenly. Talking about a plan was one thing; actually Apparating into the middle of enemy territory was another.

"You sure you want to do this, 'Mione?" George asked quietly. Hermione gave him a small smile then nodded. It wouldn't do to let the Order see her discomfort.

"Be safe, Hermione!" Angelina shouted. The rest of the Order shouted their agreement, and Hermione couldn't help but smile as she Apparated. It was a good feeling to have family.

When she had regained her senses and felt secure in her footing, Hermione looked around at Diagon Alley. A witch with bright green hair passed her and didn't give her a second look as she jostled past Hermione.

That was a good sign. Parvati had enchanted Hermione's features to be as plain as possible to remain unrecognizable, and that was what the plan hinged on. Hermione started making her way through the crowd, avoiding bumping into as many people as she could. The slave pavilion was only about twenty meters ahead, but the dense crowd blocked Hermione's view of the establishment.

After fighting her way through the mass of people for a good five minutes, Hermione was standing in front of the slave pavilion and peering inside cautiously. She didn't recognize anyone she saw, which was comforting. She walked inside casually, glancing around at the tough-looking guards who stood on either side of the doorway. She gave them a nervous smile before moving ahead and toward where the slaves were being kept. They sat in large fenced-in areas, some glaring defiantly at customers and others staring at the ground vacantly. Hermione's heart broke when she saw a girl, no more than eight years old, with tears rolling down her face as she looked up at Hermione. Hermione had to look away for fear that she might blow her cover.

 _Someday,_ she thought. _Someday I'll come back and free you all._

Hermione refocused herself and began treading along the stone floor, looking into every slave pen she passed. Slave pen. The words made a shiver run up Hermione's spine. The suggestion of the word made her think of livestock, and thinking of people in that fashion made her sick. It could just as easily have been her in those pens as Dennis Creevey or any of the people there.

Forty minutes later, Hermione started to head back for the entrance. She had combed through every single slave pen meticulously, enough so that passers-by had begun to give her curious looks at her obvious scrutiny. She considered asking the slave master for a look at his slave list but decided against it; he had been eyeing her oddly for the last few minutes, and Hermione was ready to get away from him. She strode for the doorway, nose in the air like she knew a Pureblood would, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the slave master wave a hand to the guards at the door. In tandem, they stepped in her way, effectively blocking her from leaving.

Hermione put one hand on her wand. She had already overheard one vendor mention anti-Apparition wards around the pavilion. No one had noticed the guards' odd behavior, and Hermione hoped it stayed that way. If she ended up having to fight her way out of the shop, she wanted to fight as few people as possible. The guards didn't move, simply glaring at her with their arms crossed.

The grizzled slave master approached her slowly, his mouth twisted to the side. "Pardon me, madam, but may I ask yer name?" he rasped.

Hermione tried to sound confident as she replied. "Cora Goodstone," she replied haughtily. "And who is asking?"

"Augustus Sparrow," the slave trader replied. "I don't mean to bother ya, Ms. Goodstone, but I believe I saw ya in here the other day. Would I be correct in guessin' that?"

Hermione thought quickly. "Yes, you would. I was in here last Wednesday looking at one slave in particular. A tall young man with thick blonde hair and a large slash on one cheek. Is he still here?"

"Ah, no, ma'am, he was sold jest two days ago," Sparrow replied.

Hermione sighed petulantly. "And where might I find his new owner? I simply must speak with them about a trade."

"No," he said. "I'll not be tellin' ya anything just now. I have a theory, and I want to test it. Pardon me, ma'am." Sparrow suddenly whipped out his wand and muttered something under his breath, casting a spell over her. Hermione's wand was out, but the damage had been done. She could feel her features transforming back to their original state. "I knew it!" he shouted. "I knew it was her! Grab her, boys!"

Hermione made a desperate dash for the door, hoping she could Apparate back to the Fortress before they could follow. However, luck was not with her, as one of the guards lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her back with incredible force.

Sparrow stood in front of her mockingly, reaching out and grabbing her wand from her. "I've seen yer face all over posters, _Miss Finberry_ ," he spat. At Hermione's confused look, he laughed. "Don't give me that innocent look. I'd know yer face anywhere."

Given the circumstances, Hermione guessed that Sparrow wouldn't know Miss Finberry anywhere, but she kept the thought to herself. She tried her only card. "I'll have you know that I'm a spy from Wales! We're sick of your tyranny! Let me go this instant, or you'll have to deal with my people!"

Sparrow and both of the guards laughed bitterly. "Listen, you impertinent chit, I know exactly who you are. You're a Mudblood on the run! I don't know what you came in here fer, but if was the biggest mistake of yer life. My slaves don't ever get away, and they know their place, Mudblood! You'll wish you had never come to this pavilion!"

Hermione believed him. Every head had turned to face her, and all the slaves looked at her with an expression of pity. As the guards dragged her toward the back room, Hermione didn't bother to kick or scream. It was no use; they had her.

 _Maybe_ , she thought, _I can somehow find Dennis this way_. But looking at the guards' wicked smiles and the slaves' grim frowns, Hermione doubted herself.

* * *

Narcissa strutted along, glancing around Diagon Alley occasionally as she made her way to Madam Malkin's. She stopped to greet Calliope Greengrass and spoke to several of her other acquaintances before she suddenly halted in front of the slave pavilion. Narcissa had never actually been inside one of the establishments, but some of her friends had bought muggleborn slaves from the traders and had been pleased with the results.

Narcissa thought for only a moment before she made up her mind and strode into the pavilion. She had no intention of buying a slave for herself, but Draco…

 _It could be just what he needs_ , Narcissa thought. Even though she doubted that a Mudblood would break the curse – and even though the idea made her cringe – she knew that no self-respecting Pureblood witch would even come near Draco in his cursed state, much less fall in love with him. A muggleborn slave would probably despise Draco at first, she thought, but if she could learn to love him… the curse stood a chance to be broke. Narcissa's heart beat faster at the thought. Even if love never bloomed, at least Draco would have someone to keep him company.

Strolling through the slave pens, Narcissa frowned upon seeing young children, no older than ten, chained to a wall, looking despondent. In the next pen, several men and women sat next to a large stake that anchored their chains. And in the next pen…

In the next pen was a young woman, probably around twenty-five years old, who sat against a wall with her arms crossed, wild brown hair tangling around her face. Narcissa was instantly drawn to the girl and approached her pen, leaning against the fence to get a better look at her. She was painfully thin and gaunt, but she looked wiry and strong-minded, if the look on her face was anything to judge by. Narcissa continued staring at the girl and didn't even notice when Augustus Sparrow came to stand beside her.

"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy, how are ya today?" he drawled.

"I am well, thank you, Augustus," Narcissa replied. "I wonder, would you tell me who that girl is?"

Sparrow's mouth turned down in disgust. "That's Amelia Finberry. Wanted Mudblood. Came in here trying to pass herself off as a Pureblood witch, but I knew it was the Mudblood."

Narcissa nodded absently, never taking her eyes off Hermione. "I see. How much is she?"

Sparrow looked at her incredulously. "Mrs. Malfoy, I don't think Finberry is one ya want. This is yer first slave, correct? Well, ya wouldn't want a headstrong thing such as her for yer first. Give me some time to break her in, and then I'll let ya know. Now, I've got a-"

"I said, how much for her?" Narcissa persisted.

Sparrow sighed. "Fifty Galleons."

The girl suddenly looked up and right at Narcissa. Shadowy blue eyes met warm brown ones, and Narcissa made up her mind.

"I'll take her."

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for reading my story. It means more than you'll ever know. If you have any questions, thoughts, or ideas, let me know in the comments! I love feedback! Reviews make me write faster! I love you all!


	3. Chapter 2: The Beast's Castle

Bittersweet and Strange

Hermione followed Narcissa Malfoy through the bustling turns of Diagon Alley, trying to keep her mouth from hanging open in shock. She didn't dare try to run away; Augustus Sparrow had pounded it into her head that escape was impossible due to a charm he had placed on her. Besides, her wand had been taken from her, and she knew very little wandless magic. The future seemed bleak already.

 _She had been bought as a slave by Narcissa Malfoy._ The thought hardly even seemed possible. She was to be a slave for the mother of one of the most wretched persons she had ever met. To her credit, Narcissa had not said a single word to Hermione yet, allowing Sparrow to make the necessary arrangements and then motioning for Hermione to follow her. Hermione was grateful for that; she needed a while longer to process the situation in her mind.

Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione knew very little about the woman, other than the fact that she was a Pureblood and proud of it. She had been married to Lucius Malfoy, a known Death Eater, and was the younger sister of Bellatrix Lestrange, the most ruthless woman Hermione had ever met. Besides, if Narcissa had raised a disgusting scum such as Draco Malfoy, Hermione wasn't sure that much good could be said about her. And now Hermione was her slave, bought and paid for. She cringed. Hopefully Narcissa would just give her housework to do and not make her accompany the witch out in public like some prized possession. She wanted to at least stay busy until the Order came for her.

The Order. _I should have listened to them_ , Hermione couldn't help but think. _They told me not to come alone._ The thought depressed her, but she tried to think logically. This mission had been no different than dozens of other missions she had undertaken in the past. In fact, compared to sneaking Penelope Clearwater out of Antonin Dolohov's mansion – a task Hermione had done singlehandedly – rescuing Dennis from a public slave pavilion seemed like child's play. She wasn't sure what had gone wrong, but she attributed it mostly to a set of unlikely coincidences. Parvati had accidentally enchanted her features to resemble those of some poor muggleborn on the run. _Well,_ Hermione thought, _I guess some good will come out of this if the real Amelia Finberry is thought to be captured_. At least someone would be aided.

Narcissa nodded to a woman in a pointed hat standing outside the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, obviously not intending to speak to her. However, the woman was determined and strode toward them. "Narcissa!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice, holding out her hands in greeting.

Hermione thought she saw Narcissa grimace slightly before turning and greeting the woman with an equally polite smile. "Camille Nott. How nice to see you."

"And you!" Camille replied. "How is that new rose bush doing?"

"It's fine. I doubt that autumn was the best time to buy it, but I'm sure it will bloom next spring. I'll take good care of it till then."

"I'm sure you will," Camille replied sweetly. "I've always thought –" She stopped short, noticing Hermione standing behind Narcissa for the first time. "Narcissa!" she exclaimed again. "You bought a slave! How charming!"

Narcissa nodded patronizingly. "Yes, she's the first one I've bought. I've had my qualms about it, you know – buying and selling human beings seems a bit primeval – but –"

"Oh, Narcissa, they're just Mudbloods!" Camille laughed. "They're barely people at all."

Hermione stiffened, not taking her eyes off the other woman. If she had only had her wand, she would have hexed that imperious gossip until her head spun.

Narcissa nodded, still looking vaguely disturbed. "I know, Camille, it's just –"

"There's no question about it! They're inferior, Narcissa, worthless and inferior. Why, I'd love to have someone to do my housework for me, but my husband won't let me have one in the house. He says it's too dangerous, since they could steal your things or even murder you in the night! Filthy muggles don't need magic to make your life miserable. Ah, if only we still had house-elves. It's a shame they all died with the Order."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, praying that Narcissa would end the conversation quickly, before Hermione lost her temper and told Camille Nott exactly what she thought. However, she couldn't risk being recognized. Who knew what kinds of people were in Diagon Alley? Seven years of a hard life had weathered Hermione's face, but she would still be recognizable to someone who had seen her enough in the past.

"Yes," Narcissa agreed quickly. "I know what you mean. Well, I'd best be on my way. It's been –"

Camille stepped in front of Narcissa. "Wait! Let me have a look at her first."

"Camille, I really –" Narcissa began.

"It'll only take a second." Camille circled Hermione slowly, looking her up and down. She peered her pointed face right into Hermione's grabbing her chin and twisting her head to the side. "Well, she looks like a strong little thing, doesn't she?" Narcissa didn't answer. Camille motioned for Hemione to turn around, and Hermione grit her teeth as she obeyed. _Don't make a spectacle_ , she thought to herself. _Just grin and bear it._

"It's a good thing my boy Theodore didn't see her," Camille finally said. "She's just his type, you know. Why, he bought a girl just a few months ago. Looked a lot like this one. Longer hair, a little curvier, but still a good resemblance. He had his fun with her, let me tell you," she said, giving Narcissa a sly look. "He eventually sold her to Benedict Goyle, but he's been looking for another one. Better not let him see this one, Narcissa. You might find yourself out a slave."

Narcissa tried to hide her impatience behind a smile. "Thank you, Camille. I'll keep an eye on her. Now –"

"What are you going to use her for?" Camille shrilled. Hermione wished they could just leave already.

Narcissa sighed. "Well, housework mostly, probably. I might have her run errands every now and then, but she'll probably be an indoor slave for the most part." Camille nodded absently, and Narcissa took her opportunity. "Well, Camille, it's been good to see you. Tell Thomas hello."

Camille nodded and smiled back. "I'll do that. Good luck with your slave!"

Narcissa waved goodbye to her as she left, and then she and Hermione began walking again. Hermione hoped Camille didn't come for a lot of visits to Malfoy Manor; she didn't think she could stand to have to put up with her any more.

They walked in silence for a while, Hermione trying to come up with some way to escape but coming up empty. There really seemed to be nothing to do but wait for the Order to realize something had gone wrong.

Hermione didn't realize Narcissa was talking to her for a few moments. She snapped out of her thoughts and asked, "Ma'am?"

"I said, how long has it been since you were captured, Amelia Finberry?"

Small talk? _Well, it's better than cruelty_ , Hermione thought.

"Um, I was actually just captured this afternoon," Hermione told her, trying to make her voice sound a little different.

Narcissa nodded. "Well, it's a good thing I came by, then. Theodore Nott just passed us, and it looks like he's on his way to the slave pavilion."

Hermione glanced behind them, but she couldn't distinguish any one person from the rest of the tangled mess of witches and wizards. "I see."

There was another long pause of silence, and Hermione didn't dare speak first to Narcissa. Finally, the older woman spoke again. "I suppose I might as well tell you now." Hermione raised her head curiously as Narcissa stopped and turned to face her. Her hard blue eyes gazed at Hermione seriously, and she took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say. "I didn't buy you for myself, Amelia Finberry. I bought you for my son, Draco."

Hermione knew the look of horror on her face must have been apparent, for Narcissa cleared her throat and looked at the ground. Draco Malfoy? She was to be the slave of Draco Malfoy? The boy who had tormented her all through school, who had killed Dumbledore and joined the Death Eaters? Surely the hint of compassion she had seen in Narcissa would not allow her to turn a poor muggleborn slave over to such a ruthless monster. Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes.

Narcissa looked back at her with determination. "I'm sure this comes as a surprise to you, but, under the circumstances, I thought it best not to tell Mrs. Nott the truth."

Hermione looked away. Could this really be happening?

"I think a bit of company will be good for him," Narcissa declared.

 _What, does he not get enough company from the people he murders?_ Hermione thought. She didn't respond.

Narcissa tried again. "He's very lonely. I was with him just this morning, and he was in a state I haven't seen him in for a long time. He has no one to keep him company, alone in that house, and I can only see him once a week. No Pureblood witches will have anything to do with him, and though I would rather him keep more –" she hesitated, "– reputable company, the only way I can think of to give him someone to be with is to get him a slave. He won't be happy about this, but, well…" She trailed off.

Hermione was puzzled. "Mrs. Malfoy, I don't mean to sound impertinent, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Narcissa looked up in surprise. "You mean, you don't know of the curse?"

Hermione shook her head. Amelia Finberry, on the run as she was, probably was out of touch with the Wizarding World gossip. Besides, Hermione was genuinely curious; she knew nothing about any curse on Draco Malfoy.

"Well," Narcissa began. "Lord Voldemort invoked a curse on Draco after a… well, Draco did something that made him angry, so he put a curse on Draco never to be able to leave his home. He has no wand, no magic, and no freedom. Two years ago, I managed to convince Lord Voldemort to allow me to visit him once a week, and his friends, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, come occasionally as well. Since you don't have a wand, you will be able to enter as a muggle and I won't have to clear you through Voldemort, but once you're there, I'll have to bind you to his service. That means you won't be able to leave until he can."

Hermione was stunned. It didn't make sense. Voldemort never kept his enemies alive, yet he had robbed Draco of his freedom and magic and left him alive. Did he want him to suffer for his misdeed? Still, it didn't seem like a usual move on Voldemort's part. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she decided on the most important one. "When will he be able to leave?"

A conflicted look passed Narcissa's face, and Hermione thought she appeared to be debating on whether or not to tell Hermione something. "He can't," she finally answered. "Draco is trapped in his home for the rest of his life."

Hermione felt the breath being sucked out of her lungs. The rest of his life? Did that mean… she would be trapped there just as long? If she was bound to Draco magically and he was bound to his home, she would be just as much a prisoner as he was! The Order would never be able to rescue her.

Narcissa seemed to sense her anxieties. "If it helps at all, Draco will not mistreat you. He is bitter and angry about his situation, but he is not abusive or mentally deranged. He will give you a place to sleep, food to eat, and work to do. Without magic, he lives much like a muggle, and I'm sure you'll be more comfortable that way. All I ask of you is that you treat him with respect and kindness."

Hermione scowled. "How can I respect someone who hates my kind and has tried to annihilate all the things I love?"

"You'll find that he is not as much of a monster as he seems," Narcissa frowned. "The Wizarding community seems to picture him as a beast, living in a forbidden castle with a terrible curse placed upon him. They treated me with contempt when Lord Voldemort first cursed him, but they seem to have forgotten the issue after five years. If anyone remembers, they simply overlook him and treat me as though I am not related to him. It pains me, but he truly is safer as an image in peoples' minds." She sighed. Narcissa couldn't have been very old, but Hermione suddenly thought she looked haggard, worn down by her troubles.

"I do not ask you to be his lover or his loyal pet," Narcissa said quietly. "I only ask that you keep him company. I fear that he has lost his will to live. He needs someone to talk to. Please, I beg of you; help me save my son."

Hermione couldn't find the words she needed. Narcissa Malfoy was asking her – no, _pleading_ with her – to live with and befriend Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater who was apparently hated by both Voldemort's followers and the Order. It seemed an impossible task. Narcissa had promised that he wouldn't harm her, but Hermione had no guarantee of that. He had hated her for years, and she had no reason to think that had suddenly changed. Would he beat her? Rape her? He could certainly even kill her, with or without magic. She had no wand, no way to defend herself or escape. Two headstrong people with differing opinions and spite for one another sharing a living space for an indefinite period of time seemed to Hermione to be a recipe for trouble.

But, then, what choice did she have? Narcissa legally owned her, and soon she would be magically bound to Draco. Her only chance was to play along with this horrid game and keep her eyes open for an opportunity to escape.

Hermione nodded. "I'll do what I can."

Narcissa straightened, regaining her regal air and turning around again. She walked forward and Hermione followed her. After a few moments of quiet, Hermione ventured, "Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"What if your son doesn't want me?"

"Then I'm afraid he's going to have to swallow his pride. A slave will be good for him. Now, I have a few things to tell you, and I expect you to remember them and obey them. Do you understand?"

Narcissa had returned to her haughty demeanor now, and Hermione suspected that she wouldn't be seeing the tender, desperate side of the woman again for a very long time. "Yes, ma'am," she replied dutifully.

"Draco looks… well, he doesn't look like he used to," Narcissa said tentatively. "He's no monster, as people make him out to be, but his appearance can be… startling, if you aren't used to it. I don't suppose you ever saw him before, but he used to be quite handsome. He still is, it's just… oh, never mind. You'll see him when we get there. As I was saying, under no circumstances are you to mention his appearance. It will only get him riled up, and he can be quite unreasonable when he's angry. When you first see him, don't jump or gasp. If he mentions it to you, politely agree or just don't say anything. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said. It couldn't be too hard. How bad could he really look?

"And another thing," Narcissa continued, never looking back at Hermione as she spoke. "Try to keep him from drinking as much as you can. He tends to drown his sorrows in alcohol, much like his father did, and it makes him unbearable. Don't make him angry but refusing to give him any, but if he asks for a drink, give him water or pumpkin juice. Hopefully, he'll get out of the habit."

"I understand."

"Also, don't try to escape," she said seriously. "There is no way out of the house, and it will only waste your time and energy. Just focus on making his life – and yours, I suppose – as pleasant as possible."

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione wondered if she should cross her fingers behind her back as she said it.

"One more thing." Narcissa whirled around to face Hermione again, and Hermione had to stumble back to keep from bumping into her. "Don't tell him that I have told you any of this, do you understand?" she asked sharply.

Hermione swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

Narcissa softened. "Good. And, Amelia, if Draco mistreats you at all – and I don't think he will – but if he does, tell me when I come and visit him."

Hermione looked at Narcissa curiously. "Yes, ma'am. And thank you," she added.

Narcissa nodded. "You'll find that not all of us believe as Mrs. Nott does."

* * *

The house itself was frightening. Years of disrepair had turned the formerly-white stone to a dull gray, giving it an ominous aura. Evening was falling, and the sky behind Hermione was orange and pink in the sunset; the manor, however, seemed to be covered by a black cloud, enveloping the property in darkness. A horrible stench rose up from the ground, and Hermione fought the urge to cover her nose. Enormous black vines adorned with thorns as long as a wand grew up from the foundations of the house and crawled up the walls, effectively blocking every door and window. Hermione took a deep breath. She was suddenly glad for Narcissa's company. She should hate to have to enter the house _and_ meet Draco Malfoy alone.

Narcissa approached the house calmly, showing no signs of being affected by the smell or the off-putting appearance of the building. Hermione trailed behind her, willing Neville or George or Luna to appear and take her back to the Fortress. But she knew they would not come. They wouldn't dare come after her for awhile – at least until they realized she hadn't sent them a Patronus.

Narcissa strode up to the towering front door and tapped the foremost vine with her wand. Hermione watched in amazement as the thorny vines parted, moving up, down, or to the side to clear a path to the door. Narcissa pushed the great door open, and Hermione hurried through. Turning around, she watched as the vines knit back together, forming a dense thicket once more as Narcissa shut the door.

Hermione turned back to stare at the entry hall and felt her jaw dropping once more. It was simpler than Malfoy Manor, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Several oak doors were open, and Hermione could glimpse a sitting room to the left and a dining room to the right. The furniture was small but ornate, and everything seemed to be dark. It wasn't just the colors, either; the whole room seemed to be smothered in darkness. Hermione noted that there were no mirrors visible in any of the rooms.

"I'm afraid Draco isn't a very good housekeeper," Narcissa said, eyeing the dusty corner of the floor. "You'll have your work cut out for you."

Hermione said nothing as she continued staring. A bold stone staircase spiraled to the upstairs, and the upper floor appeared to be as dark as the main floor. Everything was made of stone – the walls, the ceilings, the floors. _That will be fun to clean_ , Hermione said to herself, stifling the urge to roll her eyes.

"Draco!" Narcissa suddenly called. Hermione jumped as Narcissa's voice rang out and echoed off the walls. Hermione suspected that even a whisper would echo in this house.

Narcissa called twice more before they heard footsteps echoing on stone floors upstairs. Draco wasn't dragging his feet, Hermione thought, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry, either. She felt her stomach twist into knots. What would it be like to see Draco again? Would he recognize her? It had been seven years since he had last seen her, and surely he had seen a lot of people during that time. She looked different enough; grief and toil had lined her face and hardened her features. Maybe she stood a chance.

Hermione flinched as she heard him coming down the staircase. The shadows cast from the upstairs obscured him from her view for the most part, but when Narcissa stepped to the side and Draco stood at the base of the steps, it took all of Hermione's strength not to gasp as Narcissa had said.

If she had seen him in a crowd, Hermione would never have recognized Draco Malfoy. He was muvh thinner than she remembered – almost eerily so – and the slump to his shoulders told her that any of his former arrogance was diminished. But his face… his face looked like some sort of macabre painting. Chalky white, jagged scars decorated his skin like lace, crossing over his forehead, cheeks, and nose and slashing across his eyes. The marks trailed down his high collar and even appeared to mar his hands, from what Hermione could see. One scar in particular, winding around his temple and across his nose and jawline, made Hermione cringe. Enemies or not, she wouldn't wish such horrid disfigurement on anyone.

Narcissa stepped toward Draco, seemingly not noticing his scars. Hermione assumed that Narcissa had grown used to the marks, but she didn't see how she ever could.

"Who is that, Mother?" Draco hissed. "You know I can't see anybody."

Narcissa nodded. "I know, dear. But this is different."

"Different how?" he snarled. He turned to face Hermione, and she tried not to shrink under his glare. "Come to stare at my scars, huh? Quite a sight, aren't they? Why don't you step into the light so I can really give you a scare?"

Narcissa frowned. "Draco, please. Amelia, you heard him. Step into the light."

Hermione didn't have a choice. She did as she was told, stepping forward and praying desperately that Draco wouldn't recognize her.

No such luck.

As soon as she was visible, Draco gasped quietly and stepped back, nearly tripping on the bottom step. He sat down heavily, never taking his eyes off her.

"What's the matter, Draco?" Narcissa asked, looking between Draco and Hermione. "Is something wrong?"

Draco moved his lips, but no sound came out. Hermione stood stock-still, hoping against hope that he wouldn't reveal his identity. "Who is that?" he finally croaked.

Narcissa put a hand on his shoulder. "This is Amelia Finberry. She's a muggleborn slave. She was brought in just today."

Draco hardly even seemed to hear his mother. He didn't say a word, just gaped at Hermione. She looked away. His staring was quite uncomfortable.

"She's been on the run," Narcissa ventured. "She's not used to slavery, but –"

"How?" Draco burst out. He was still looking at Hermione.

Narcissa frowned again. "How what, Draco?"

Draco tried to speak again, but his words failed him and he shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away and looking at the floor.

"She's yours, Draco. I got her for you."

Draco looked up at his mother in disbelief. "For me?" he whispered. At Narcissa's hopeful nod, his silence was suddenly broken. Draco leaped to his feet and looked back and forth from Narcissa to Hermione. "For me?!" he shouted. "Mother, I – I can't have a – I mean, I can't –"

"You can," Narcissa broke in. "And you will."

"But I –"

"You were telling me just this morning how lonely you are, Draco! Well, now you don't have to be lonely! You have someone to keep you company!"

"A slave, Mother?" Draco shouted again. "A muggleborn slave?!"

"Yes, Draco. Just because she's muggleborn doesn't mean she can't keep you company. You'll have someone to talk to and… be friends with, and she can help you keep house."

" _Keep house?"_ Draco repeated, sounding catatonic. " _Friends?_ Mother, if the only way I can have company is to force a _slave_ to live with me, then I'd rather be alone!"

"Well, who else is it going to be?" Narcissa demanded, matching Draco's fiery tone. "No Pureblood is going to come, and Voldemort won't allow them, anyway. This is your only option, Draco, take it or leave it!"

"Who said I wanted options?" he growled. "I know for a fact that I could never live with that – that – _her_!"

"Draco, how can you say that? You don't even know her yet!"

Draco hesitated, glancing at Hermione. "I don't have to know her," he finally said, sounding somewhat calmer. "I don't want her. You keep her, Mother. You need company as much as I do."

"That's not true, Draco," Narcissa said gently. "This will be good for you. I want you to take her."

Draco shook his head slowly, but he found no words and collapsed back onto the stair.

Narcissa continued. "It isn't a death sentence, Draco. If anything, it's the cure to one. You won't have to be lonely anymore. She'll cook and clean for you, and she can help you with any projects you have –"

"I don't have projects," Draco said, his voice muffled by his hands over his head.

"Well, anyway, she'll be company for you. I know this isn't an ideal situation, but it's still an option. If you'll just be good to her, she'll be good to you. Please, Draco, for your sake and mine, just accept it."

There was a long moment of silence, and Hermione could almost hear the fierce conflict in Draco's mind. Finally, he looked up, sighed, and said, "All right, Mother. I'll take her."

* * *

Hermione didn't realize that she hadn't said a word since arriving at the house until Narcissa announced that she was leaving. After having placed a charm that bound Hermione to her new master – Hermione cringed at the thought – Narcissa had made sure that all necessary arrangements were in place before gathering her things together. It was already dark outside, and she needed to be getting home, she said. Hermione's stomach churned at the thought of being alone with Draco.

Narcissa left out the front door and Apparated when she was outside the boundaries of the property. Hermione watched her go and shut the door carefully as the thorny vines wove back into their places across the doorway. She took a deep breath and turned around to find Draco quietly staring at her, any previous anger having given way to shock.

She faced him squarely, determined to show him courage. Still, she didn't say a word. What was there to say?

Draco stared at her for another very long moment. Finally, he very quietly asked, "Hermione Granger?"

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. He knew.

"Why didn't you tell her?" she asked after another long pause. "If you knew, what difference would it have made?"

"A great deal of difference," he replied softly. "If Voldemort still thought you were alive, he would stop at nothing to have you dead. I can't believe you weren't recognized in town." When Hermione didn't say anything, he began walking toward her. "Hermione Granger. How are you alive, after all this time of thinking you were dead?"

The calm, gentle tone of his voice surprised her. She hadn't expected this kind of welcome. "I… I'd rather not say." She didn't know how much she could trust him. Ostracized from the Death Eaters or not, there was no chance she was going to mention the Order to him.

Draco simply stared at her, standing mere feet away from her spot near the door. Hermione didn't mind, but she didn't think she would like it if he tried to touch her. "I can't believe you're here," he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione could hardly believe her ears. What was going on? Was this even the same man she had once known? Even though his face had changed, surely his personality couldn't be so different as well.

She cleared her throat. "You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you let on to your mother who I am?"

Draco stared at her for another moment, the shrugged. "I guess I didn't think it would be worth it. You've made it this far; it seems a shame that I should be the one to give you up."

Hermione tried to hide her surprise. "Then you think she would turn me over to Voldemort if she knew?"

"No," Draco replied. "I don't. But the less people that know who you really are, the better. Especially if you're living here." He paused again, then asked, "What did she say your name was?"

"Amelia Finberry," Hermione said. "Some poor muggleborn who will probably end up going off the radar now that they think I'm her."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I'll have to remember to call you that." He took another step forward, but when Hermione stepped back, he stopped. "You're too smart to get caught like this, Granger. How did they ever get hold of you?"

Was he testing her? Seeing how much she would reveal? What was he getting at? "A case of mistaken identity," she finally ventured. "I was pretending to be someone elite, but Augustus Sparrow the slave trader mistook me for Amelia Finberry and sold me as such."

"What were you even doing at the slave market? That slimeball Sparrow is only ever there."

"I – I'd still rather not say," she stuttered. There was no way he would get her to mention Dennis Creevey.

Draco nodded absently. He still hadn't taken his eyes off of her, and his stare was making Hermione uncomfortable. "Would you mind not staring so much?" she finally snapped.

His eyes widened, and he looked away embarrassedly. "Sorry. I just can't believe I'm actually seeing you again."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask him a question, but Draco beat her to it. "You're probably pretty surprised by how I'm acting. It's only been seven years, but those seven years have been rather strange for me. I assume my mother told you about the curse?" Hermione nodded. "Well, it's kind of… let's just say that complete isolation for five years changes a person a lot."

Hermione cautiously nodded. "I can understand that. I've changed a lot, too."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I would imagine. I hardly even recognized you at first, you look so different."

"Well, hardship will do that to you," she smiled slightly. She was dying of curiosity about his scars and what all the curse entailed, but she didn't dare ask – at least not tonight.

"My mother will be by sometime next week," Draco was saying. "I'd probably either be crazy or dead if it wasn't for her. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott come by every once in a while, too. I guess I'll have to hide you whenever they come over; can't have them seeing you…"

He gave Hermione a strange look. "Listen, Granger, if I could set you free, I would. I don't have any use for a slave. I've been doing for myself for five years now; I certainly don't need your help. But as long as you're here, I guess we might as well make the best of it." He swallowed uncomfortably. "You don't have to worry about me trying to… take advantage of you or anything like that. You can have the room on the third floor. Mine's on the second." He looked around, as if trying to think of anything he had missed. "You can go anywhere in the house that you want. You won't be able to go outside as long as you're bound to me, so just do whatever you want. I can make out a list of things for you to do if you want, but it's not necessary. Like I said, I can do pretty well for myself." He gave a small laugh. "I do things more of your muggle way than anything else."

Hermione merely stared at him, floored. Did he actually expect her to trust him? Sure, he seemed different, but it could all be an act. Maybe he was planning to get back in Voldemort's favor by turning her in. _That has to be it!_ she thought.

She certainly couldn't let him know she was onto him, though. She nodded graciously. "Thank you, Draco. I appreciate your kindness. I'll do all I can to make my time here as pleasant as possible."

Draco's eyebrows raised one at a time. That obviously wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. "Ah… all right then. Um, I think I'm going to bed now. It's getting late. Do you want to go, too?"

Hermione nodded, and Draco turned to go up the staircase again. Hermione followed, taking in her surroundings as she climbed higher. The second floor wasn't as fancy as the first floor, but it was blanketed by the same heavy darkness. The third floor was much the same, and Draco pointed her to her room at the end of the hallway. "There it is. If you don't like it, you can pick a different one."

Hermione gave him a half smile. "I'm sure it will be fine. Thank you."

Draco ducked his head as he started back for the staircase. "Yeah. Well, I, uh… I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Hermione could hear Draco's footsteps echoing on the stone floors as he descended the stairs and went to his own room. When she was sure he was gone, Hermione crept into her room, looking around cautiously for any trick that might be waiting for her. Finding none, she surveyed her surroundings. It was a modest but comfortable-looking room, with a twin bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a lampstand. There was a single window, but it was screened by the heavy thorns outside.

Hermione suddenly wished that she had some of her own belongings to decorate the room with, or even her own clothes to fold in the chest of drawers. It felt more like a prison cell than a bedroom, and as she curled up in her bed that night, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, Hermione could only pray that it _would_ be temporary rather than a permanent lifestyle. She honestly didn't think she could bear that.

* * *

A/N: Hi, guys! Thanks so much for reading chapter 2. You'll never know how much it means. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did, tell me what you liked and what else you'd like to see in the comments section. If you didn't like it, let me know what your thoughts are and I'll do my best to work with it. Reviews are my writing oxygen!

Shameless advertisement: Do me a favor and check out by story, "Booked for the Evening." It's more what I'm used to writing, a lighthearted oneshot. It's Dramione, so if you're enjoying this story, you'll probably enjoy that one. Again, thanks so much for reading, and I'll see you all soon with a new chapter!


	4. Chapter 3: Angry and Alone

Bittersweet and Strange

"It's been almost eighteen hours, Neville. Hermione should be back by now!"

"And even if she isn't back, she should have sent us a message to let us know she's all right!"

"I told her it was crazy to go off by herself. It's been years since she's been on a solo mission!"

"That doesn't mean she isn't capable!"

"I didn't say she wasn't capable!"

"Neville, what are we going to do?"

"Yeah, you said we would protect her at all costs. Well, she's missing. Now what?"

Neville sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily for what seemed like the hundredth time. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, but then neither had any of the Order. It was now seven o'clock in the morning, eighteen hours since Hermione had left the Fortress to track down Dennis Creevey. _She should have sent a Patronus yesterday_ , Neville thought, but they had received no word since Hermione had left.

Neville opened his eyes again. "Listen, I know what you're all going through; I'm having the same experience. You're right, Seamus. Hermione should be back, and like Dean said, she should have sent us a message to let us know what's going on. I know it was part of what we agreed on, but we have to remember that Hermione is in the middle of enemy territory. There's no telling what kinds of wards are up or what situations she's run into that might be inhibiting her from contacting us. That doesn't necessarily mean she's in trouble; just that she's in a tricky spot. Whatever it is, Hermione is a bright, intelligent woman. We've all witnessed that firsthand. She has gotten out of a lot of situations most of us would have died in. I doubt she would let herself get captured, but if she did, she's smart enough to lay low until we come for her."

"And when will that be?" Oliver demanded. "If she's been captured, we may have a very small timeframe to work with."

"I realize that," Neville conceded. "But keep this in mind, too – if she hasn't been captured and we come storming in to rescue her, that would blow her cover and possibly endanger both hers and Dennis' lives."

Lee nodded in agreement. "And it would alert the Death Eaters to our presence."

George looked at Neville with frustration. "Neville, I know what you're saying. Hermione is competent and probably not in danger. But if she is in trouble and we don't come for her, it's only a matter of time before she's recognized and killed immediately. It's like Oliver said: we don't have much time to play with. Even if it endangers the mission, Hermione comes first."

Neville nodded, but Angelina spoke before he could. "Don't forget that trick she pulled last week," she reminded everyone. "She wasn't supposed to leave without telling anyone. It could be that she just decided not to tell us what's going on so she can follow a lead of her own idea."

Neville frowned. "Angelina, I don't think Hermione would do that."

"But what if she did?" Cho chimed in. "Then all this worrying would be for nothing."

"No, it wouldn't," Luna said. "She's still our friend. We have a right to worry about her whether she's in trouble or not."

Angelina broke in. "Still, we'd look pretty foolish making a daring rescue for her if she's just hanging around the slave pavilion or shopping for books."

"Don't say that!" George exclaimed. "Hermione is a friend to everyone here, and she would never say things like this about any of you! She went for one purpose – to rescue Dennis Creevey – and if I know Hermione, she won't stop until she has found him and can bring him back. Something must have prevented her from speaking. She would never just abandon orders to chase her own lead."

"She did it last Friday," Angelina grumbled.

"All right, all right," Neville said. "Everyone just calm down. This is not a debate. We're just concerned about our friend and need to figure out a solution." He sighed. "How about this? We'll give her until tonight at dark. If she's not back by then or she hasn't sent word, we'll form covert groups to spread out and look for her. We can't risk rushing in to save her and her not even being there. We need to do this quietly. It's a lot like the Katie Bell situation; we can't afford to lose her on account of our desperation."

The room was silent for a moment, but everyone slowly began to agree with Neville's plan. "But what if tonight is too late?" Nigel asked.

"We just have to pray it isn't," Neville replied grimly.

* * *

It was no use. It was just no use at all.

Hermione let out a frustrated breath as she stepped back from the single window of what was probably supposed to have been a conservatory. It was one of the only windows she hadn't yet tried, and it, too, was firmly blocked by the enchanted thorn vines. The fire poker she had been using to try to pry the vines apart was now completely bent out of shape, and her hands were scratched and bloody from the sharp thorns.

Most of Hermione's first night in Draco's manor was spent futilely attempting to escape through her bedroom window, but she had been thoroughly discouraged. Since she had risen and begun prowling around the house, she had gone into most every room to try the windows, to no avail. She knew full well that she was magically bound to the house by Draco's curse and her enslavement to him, but it still would have been nice to make some progress.

She hadn't seen Draco at all since the night before. She briefly wondered if he was spying on her, but she immediately dismissed the thought. He had no magic, and she would be able to see him if he were standing in the room with her. She didn't even know where he was; for all she knew, he was on top of the roof.

Hermione collapsed in a nearby armchair. She was frustrated, but she wasn't even close to being ready to give up. Though the problem was certainly a tricky one, she knew the Order would be coming for her soon, and she intended to at least have a list of ideas for escape when they found her. They all had their wands; surely they could reverse the binding charm.

Hermione stood and stretched her sore arms, only then realizing that it was nearing noon and she had not yet eaten. She wasn't sure where the kitchen was, but she suspected it was on the first floor. As she walked down the third floor hallway, she peeked into the rooms she passed. Draco was not in any of them that she could see. She didn't have a problem with that; she wanted to avoid him as much as possible.

As she was working on the stubborn vines the night before, Hermione had given a lot of thought to Draco's reaction to her. He had seemed almost relieved after Narcissa left – even somewhat shy and awkward. She supposed it was a result of being shut up in a house and completely isolated from humanity. At least she couldn't hold his abnormalities against him.

Still, she couldn't help but suspect he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security, then snap the trap shut and turn her over to Voldemort – or even kill her himself. She wasn't sure why he would go to all that trouble – besides, he had seemed genuine enough – but years of fighting for her life had made Hermione wary of wolves in sheep's clothing. One evening of politeness wasn't nearly enough to cancel out twenty-odd years of being a vicious Death Eater.

Hermione wandered through the dining room and found that the kitchen was only a short distance away. Casting a quick glance around to make sure Draco wasn't around, she opened one of the cabinets and, seeing some bread, meat, and cheese, decided to make herself a sandwich. She stayed silent as she worked, smiling to herself as she realized that she was living like a muggle again. It was somewhat comforting; though she strongly wished that she had her wand, it was still nice to do something simple and productive without the aid of magic.

She had just sat down at the kitchen table with her sandwich and a glass of water when Draco suddenly walked into the room. Hermione reflexively leaped to her feet, then awkwardly looked at the tabletop when she realized how unusual her actions must have seemed. Draco glanced at her briefly but didn't acknowledge her further. Instead, he strode toward the cabinets and began rummaging through the shelves before pulling out a small vial of green potion. He downed it in one gulp, tossing the vial aside and letting it hit the opposite wall. Hermione jumped slightly as the vial hit the floor, cracking but not shattering.

Draco leaned against the counter for a moment, breathing heavily, but he finally turned around and nodded to Hermione. When he didn't speak, she said, "Morning, Malfoy."

He swallowed, raising a hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. "Granger."

She tried again. "Um… is everything okay?"

"It's fine," Draco replied stiffly, sounding pained.

Hermione only nodded, looking down at her still-untouched sandwich. "Is it your scars?" she asked quietly.

Draco cocked his head to the side. "How did you know that?"

"Well," Hermione shrugged, "I remember how Harry's scar would hurt from time to time. I just thought maybe you had the same problem." He didn't reply, and she continued. "If so, I'm sure yours are worse than Harry's, since they… uh…" She remembered Narcissa's strict order not to talk about his scars, but she had slipped up.

Draco lowered his eyebrows. "Since they make me look like a candidate for a freak show, right?"

"I wasn't going to say that."

He shook his head. "Well, if you must know, yes, it's my scars. They hurt a great deal sometimes, and when they do, it makes me irritable. So irritable I want to break something. So please do me a favor and don't talk when I'm like this. Don't come near me; don't– don't even look at me!"

Hermione nodded, but Draco didn't see. He was already striding for the door. "Um… is there anything I can do?" she called after him.

"No!" he shouted back. "I said don't do anything! Just eat your sandwich and find something to do! Just get away from me!" He turned and stormed out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Hermione looked down at her place. Suddenly she wasn't very hungry.

* * *

Hermione scrubbed furiously at the stubborn stain on the sitting room wall's corner. She had been scrubbing for hours, but she was too angry and persistent to give up without getting that one black stain that marred the otherwise gray stone. She could feel the rag starting to fray from her vicious rubbing, but she honestly couldn't bring herself to care.

After swallowing a few bites of her sandwich, Hermione had taken Draco's advice and found something to do. It had given her plenty of time to stew over his harsh words and work herself into a thunderous fury. Finding some cleaning materials in a hall closet, she had done what she supposed was the last thing Draco would expect: she had decided to clean the house from top to bottom.

After all, wasn't that one of the things a slave was supposed to do? Clean the house? Besides, it gave Hermione a chance to prove to Draco that she wasn't going to let him bully her into submission; if he was as honest and easygoing as he was trying to convince her he was, then he would feel bad about his roughness and apologize. And after hours of brewing over her fury, she was more than ready to hear Draco Malfoy apologize.

It was taking a lot longer than she had thought it would. Hermione was a perfectionist, and it had taken her two hours to get the entry hall to look how she wanted it to look. The other two and a half hours had been spent attacking the stained walls of the sitting room. That one giant black stain was really starting to bug Hermione. She had paid special attention to it after realizing it reminded her of Draco.

She stopped short as her fingernails scraped the stone wall. She had finally worn through the rag. Having gone through four of them already, Hermione decided to make the trip to the second-floor hall closet and get more rags. She hadn't realized she would run through them so fast.

Making her way up the staircase as quietly as possible, she realized that she had no idea where Draco was. She wondered if he would even care that she had been cleaning just to spite him, given his earlier reaction. It might even enrage him further, and Hermione was sure she didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. Still, it had given her something to do all afternoon, even if it didn't take her mind off her troubles.

Hermione reached the second floor and padded down the hallway, keeping an eye out for Draco. All the doors of the hallway looked exactly alike, and when closed it was impossible to remember which one was which. Hermione reached out for the door handle of what she thought she remembered as the closet, but to her surprise, it was locked.

 _That's strange_ , she thought. She had been positive that all the doors in the manor were consistently unlocked. She suddenly pulled back when she realized that Draco was probably inside the locked room. A muffled shuffling behind the door made her pull back quickly and dash for one of the unlocked doors. She pressed herself to the wall of the closet she had originally been looking for and hoped Draco wouldn't look for her. Trying not to flinch, she heard a key turn in the lock and the first door swing open. There was silence, and then Draco shuffled back into the room, closed the door, and locked it.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been discovered. Grabbing a few more rags from a top shelf, she flew out of the closet and down to the first floor as quickly as she could.

* * *

After making herself a quick dinner, Hermione had made short work of the sitting room and was working on another large, empty room, which Hermione guessed was where the house-elves would have lived. She shuddered a little at the thought. Hermione had been devastated to learn that most of the house-elves in the Wizarding World had been killed for sport by the Death Eaters, but at this point, she was just glad that they didn't have to be around to suffer Voldemort's wrath anymore.

It was nearing eight o'clock in the evening when Hermione finished the house-elf room and moved on to what used to be a ballroom, or at least Hermione assumed that was what it had been. It was the largest room she had seen yet on the first floor, but she guessed that it was one of the largest in the household. Taking in the sheer size of the room, Hermione decided to tackle the ballroom the next day.

She leaned backwards, stretching out her tired muscles. Spiting Draco was going to leave her sore and irritable the next day, and Hermione wasn't looking forward to it. At least she would be able to match Draco in his disagreeable mood.

Hermione picked up her basket of cleaning items and moved to the next room, the kitchen. She had already decided that it would be her last room before going to bed. The sky was going dark, extinguishing the tiny shafts of light that peered through the vine-wrapped windows. She set to work, polishing the tabletop and counters until they shone. She had just started taking everything out of the cupboards to dust the shelves when she heard a noise coming from the dining room. She frowned. How had Draco gotten in there without her noticing?

Hermione quietly made her way to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting at the long oak table. A nearly-empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat in front of him, as well as an smaller, completely empty bottle and a shot glass. Judging by the bottles' contents and the dazed look on his face, Hermione surmised that he had probably been drinking for hours. He had his head resting on his forearms, obviously trying to forget the pain from his scars.

Hermione suddenly remembered Narcissa's words to her. _He tends to drown his sorrows in alcohol, much like his father did, and it makes him unbearable._ Hermione wondered if she should take the bottles while he wasn't looking, but she didn't have time to make up her mind. Draco jerked his head up from the table, giving her a withering glare.

"Granger," he spat.

"Malfoy," she replied evenly. "What do you think you're doing?"

Draco's eyes rolled shut for a moment before he shook his head and opened them again. "My head hurts," he slurred. He looked ready to fall out of his chair.

"I see," Hermione said. "Do you want some water?"

Draco growled at her, and she took a step back. "No. Firewhiskey. In the cubberd…"

Hermione frowned. The last thing he needed was more alcohol. "Malfoy, I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't I –"

"Why don't you do as I said?!" he roared, surprising Hermione by leaping to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. "If you could feel this pain, you'd want Firewhiskey, too!" His surge of strength ended, and he collapsed into his chair. However, the chair was tipped over on the floor, and Draco went sprawling over it. Hermione might have laughed at him in another situation, but he was too angry and drunk to put up with being made fun of.

Hermione didn't move. "Malfoy, let me –"

Suddenly, Draco was on his feet again, leaning against the table. He yanked his shot glass up and drank the alcohol that was left. He then threw the glass over his shoulder and let it shatter on the stone floor, turning up the Firewhiskey bottle and draining it dry. Hermione stood still, watching him carefully. He dropped the bottle and didn't move for a moment, letting the alcohol work its way through his blood. Then he turned his head to look at her, noticing her stare.

"What are you looking at, Granger?" he said, his words running together. "Am I that bad?"

Hermione didn't know how to respond. "Malfoy… you're drunk. Just go to bed before you hurt yourself."

"I've been drunk before. I know how to handle it. And I intend to get as drunk as possible before the night is over."

Hermione sighed. "Then go right ahead. I'm not going to help."

Draco sneered at her. "All you Mudbloods are alike. Dim-witted, selfish, worthless trash. I wish you were all dead. I wish _I_ was dead. I wish the whole world was dead!"

Hermione raised her chin. Drunk or not, the words still stung, and Hermione could feel anger bubbling up inside her. "Don't talk to me like that, Malfoy," she warned softly.

"Why not?" he demanded, taking a step closer to her. She backed up, inching toward the kitchen. "You're mine, aren't you? You're _mine_. I _own_ you."

Hermione set her jaw. "I'm not yours, Malfoy. It may say I am on a piece of paper, but I don't belong to you. I could never belong to anyone as nasty and hateful as you. You're a vile, repulsive, bigoted, selfish, arrogant… drunk animal!" Hermione knew she would later regret being so harsh, but she was angry and had had a whole day of mulling it over to fuel her passion. "The only reason I'm here is because your mother dragged me here. She brought me here! She bound me here! If I could leave, I would do it without a moment's hesitation. You disgust me, Malfoy, and I wouldn't mind if I never had to see your ugly face again!"

Hermione knew the face comment was what pushed him past the limit. She hadn't been referring to his scars – it was just an insult that had come to mind – but she had no doubt that Draco was thinking about his scarred face. He let go of the table he had been leaning against and started slowly stalking toward her. "You think I'm ugly, do you? You think I look like a monster?"

"Malfoy, I –"

"Shut up!" he shouted. "Do you want to see, Granger? You want to see my scars? They're even worse up close. You want to see?"

Hermione had backed into the wall behind her, but she wasn't about to be trapped by Draco. She began sidestepping, moving toward the kitchen entrance.

"Come look, Granger," he taunted. "Come look into the face of the beast."

Hermione whirled around and started running through the kitchen, through the ballroom and the house-elf room to the hallway. With a wand, she was every bit Draco's match, if not more so, but he was physically bigger and stronger than she, and she had no intention of finding out what he would do to her when his mind was clouded with alcohol.

She couldn't hear his footsteps echoing behind her, and she chanced a look back as she ran into the entry hall. It was a mistake. No sooner had she turned her head when she slammed right into Draco. _He must have come through the dining room door_ , she thought.

Draco scowled down at her, his breath washing over her face and nearly making her gag. He didn't give her time to run, just used his alcohol-induced strength to grab her arms and slam her into the inside of the front door. He was far too close, and Hermione fought relentlessly to free herself from him. He didn't move, his iron grip surely leaving bruises on her upper arms.

"Look at me, Granger," Draco said quietly, dangerously. "Tell me what you see."

So Hermione looked. The scars that crisscrossed his face were jagged and deep. They had probably taken years to fully turn white. Standing mere inches away from him, Hermione noticed for the first time that his right eye was clouded with a white scar as well; probably an effect from the scar that slashed through his eyebrow and across his cheek. The skin that wasn't marred by the scar tissue was pale and clammy, and his eyes were shadowed with grief and pain. It was true; he really did resemble a monster. But Hermione could see desperation in his eyes, hurt and loneliness lining his face, and it was those emotions that made him very much human.

"I see a man who was cursed to wear the face of a monster," she said, "but who still has the heart of a man. I don't know what you did to make Voldemort mark you so, but I certainly hope it was worth it."

"You don't know what I did," he whispered. "You could never understand."

Hermione suddenly frowned, looking deep into his eyes. "Why couldn't I?" she asked. "I'm human, too. Everyone does things with the same general motivations. Even Voldemort."

"Don't compare me to him." Draco didn't even sound angry, just exhausted.

"I wasn't. I was comparing you to me." Draco looked down at her with cautious eyes, and Hermione kept going. "I've done terrible things, too; while fighting the War and afterwards. It's been a hard life for everyone. Whatever you did can't be any worse than what the rest of us did. Just with a different motive."

Draco just stared at her, breathing hard as she did the same. His eyes danced over her face, and Hermione wondered if he was thinking about kissing her. He certainly looked wild enough to try it.

Hermione decided not to find out. She reached up and removed his hands from her arms, causing him to step back and give her some breathing room. She gave him one final look of questioning, then dashed up the staircase to her room. She locked the door behind her.

* * *

A/N: Thank you again to everyone who is reading my story! I can't even tell you how much it means to me! If I had any money and I knew where you all lived, I'd take you out for ice cream, but I guess I'll just have to send you some imaginary virtual ice cream. I know this chapter is a little shorter than the last two, but hopefully it didn't ruin your day too much ;) Anyway, I'd love to hear your feedback and your thoughts on the story, as well as any ideas you might have for where it's going!

Also, special thanks to my reviewers: 98, Dancing-Souls, Jake Jackson, RosieJones95, and a guest! You guys are awesome! Go ahead and treat yourselves to some sprinkles on top of you virtual ice cream. Thanks again to everyone!


	5. Chapter 4: Promises and Intentions

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 4: Promises and Intentions

"Come out of that room, Granger!"

"No!"

"Did you not hear me? I said _come out_!"

"I heard you the last three times, Malfoy! Say it as often as you like! I'm not coming out!"

"You can't stay in there forever!"

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"Granger, get out of that room before I break down the door! I can do it, you know!"

"Go right ahead!"

 _Sweet Salazar_ , she was infuriating. Draco had been at the door for nearly half an hour, and he had given up on coaxing her out politely nearly as long ago. He had just wanted to apologize for the night before and make sure he hadn't hurt her – he could remember slamming her against the front door and not much else. But Hermione's stubbornness and Draco's temper had led them right into a shouting match through her locked bedroom door. And she _would not_ come out.

Draco doubted his shouting was helping he situation, but he was past caring. "I know where the key to your room is, Granger! All I have to do is go get it."

There was silence on the other side of the door. "Don't you come in this room, Malfoy," Hermione warned.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Granger, all I want to do is talk to you!"

"So talk!"

"I meant face-to-face!"

"I can hear you just fine!"

"Granger, get out here unless you want to starve to death!"

"Sounds good to me!"

Draco nearly rammed his fist into the door, just to throw a scare into her. _That's just going to add to the time it will take to get her to come out,_ he reasoned. He pulled his hand back but kept talking, trying to calm his voice somewhat. "Granger, please. There's no reason to be like this!"

"I don't know how drunk you were last night, but I'd say I have a perfectly good reason to be like this!" she retorted.

Draco sighed, leaning against the wall in frustration. "That's what I want to talk to you about! Please, just let me say what I have to say!"

"Say it through the door!"

"Fine!" he shouted. He took a deep breath to steel himself. He hated apologizing. "I'm sorry if I scared you last night." Hermione didn't reply, so Draco kept going. "I know I was drunk and I'm sorry I got so riled up, but I'm not used to having someone in the house with me. I usually am just mad at myself or my scars are hurting, and that's why I get drunk." He grimaced, forcing his next words out. "I'll try to be more careful."

Hermione didn't answer for a moment, and Draco could picture her leaning against the door, chewing on one lip as she thought, just like she always had at Hogwarts. Draco was about to call her again when she responded.

"That would definitely be a good thing," she said simply.

He sighed in relief. "Yeah. Come out now?"

"I'll come out when I'm ready."

"And when will that be?" he growled, feeling annoyance bubble up again.

"Whenever I'm good and ready."

"Granger, I'm warning you –"

"Aha!" she exclaimed, sounding triumphant. "I knew it. You were just waiting for that, weren't you?"

"Waiting for what?!"

"To show your temper! You have a bad temper whether you're drunk or not, Malfoy, and I don't like having to put up with it."

Draco raised his voice, not caring if he was proving her point. "What do you mean, a bad temper? I was drunk, Granger!"

"You weren't drunk when you came into the kitchen yesterday and snapped at me! I was just trying to make sure you weren't dying, and you practically bit my head off!"

"I wasn't drunk, but I was in a lot of pain!" he told her. "My scars were killing me!"

"And how often does that happen?"

Draco had had enough of this banter. "I don't have to tell you anything, Granger! Now, listen, you're supposed to do what I say, right? Now get out here!"

"Why? So you can punch me? Call me a Mudblood again? I don't think so!"

Draco was preparing a retort when Hermione's words registered with him. "I called you a Mudblood?" he asked.

She took her time in responding. "Yes. A dim-witted, selfish, worthless Mudblood, if I recall. You said you wished all Mudbloods were dead."

Draco groaned, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands. He had called her a Mudblood? He couldn't even remember it. He had been drunk, but he suddenly wished he hadn't been. It had eased the pain for a while, but at what cost? "Granger, I…"

His voice trailed off, and there was silence for a long time. Finally, Draco heard the lock turn and saw the door swing open. Hermione stepped outside cautiously, and her eyes widened when she saw him. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

Draco looked up, noticing the circles under her eyes. She probably hadn't slept all night. "Listen, Granger, I… There's something you should know." He took a deep breath. "I don't think of you as a Mudblood anymore."

She merely stared at him skeptically. "Oh, really? Then what am I?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "A muggleborn witch? You're certainly as capable or more so than any Pureblood I know. Besides that, you seem like a… a genuinely nice person. I'm sorry I ever called you that, especially last night."

Hermione appeared to be in shock. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before replying. "Malfoy… that's nice of you to say, but I really hope you don't expect me to believe you."

His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"Because one apology doesn't erase a lifetime of bad deeds. You may very well be sorry, but don't expect me to forgive everything at the drop of a hat."

"Granger," he ground out, "I'm not apologizing for my whole life. Just last night."

She frowned. "I know what you meant. I'm just saying, don't give me all that drivel about me being a nice person and a talented witch and all that. I know you don't think of me as an equal, so don't try to fool me."

"Who says I don't think of you as an equal?" he demanded.

"You did," she replied simply. "Last night."

Draco sighed, frustrated again. "Look, all I wanted to do was apologize and make sure I didn't do any lasting damage to you."

"You're about twenty years late to not do damage to –"

"Let me finish!" he roared. "Why can't you just accept the apology and be done with it? Why all these barriers to go through?"

"Why all these barriers?" she repeated incredulously. "Let me tell you something, Draco Malfoy. You may be the one with the clawed-up face and the cursed house, but I've seen and lived through just as much heartache as you have!" Draco started to scoff, but Hermione broke in. "I've seen horrible things! I've watched as my best friends were publicly murdered by your beloved Death Eaters. I saw my teachers and classmates, friends and family, be made examples of. I've helped the survivors struggle through their lives while they tried to come to terms with the new world. I've led rescue missions and waited at home for the others to come back. A few years ago, I even thought I had found love again. I didn't think I could ever love anyone after Ron, but then this young fellow from Wales came and helped us fight the Death Eaters. I thought he and I might be able to have something special, but then he committed suicide to keep from being caught on a mission. I got there too late." Hermione's eyes sent off sparks. "Don't you dare say I haven't lost as much as you have. You've lost your freedom, your place in society, even your face, but I've lost everything else. Besides, I didn't choose this life; you chose it."

Draco couldn't think of a single word to say in response. Hermione was exactly right. If only she could know…

"I'm sorry," he finally croaked out. "I didn't mean to belittle your suffering."

But his words did nothing to calm her down. Hermione had had a whole night of being angry to fuel her rage. "Do you know who killed all those people I mentioned? Do you know who made that young man commit suicide? Do you know who does all these horrific things to my loved ones? It's _your_ people, Malfoy. It's your Death Eaters. They're the ones who make getting up in the morning a pain. You may carry your scars on your face, but I carry mine in my heart. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there. I don't care if you think I'm a Mudblood or not! You've chosen to surround yourself with my very worst enemies, and for that I can _never_ forgive you. You're just like your father."

That did it. That last sentence pushed Draco over the limit and had him stepping toward her menacingly. Hermione backed up, reaching for her bedroom door, but Draco grabbed the handle and pulled it shut, pinning her against the wall with an arm on either side of her head. He tried not to pay attention to the terrified yet determined look in her eyes.

"Don't you dare compare me to my father," he said quietly. He didn't even feel like shouting; she was getting the message. "I am not anything like him, and I never will be."

Hermione scoffed. "You're a pathetic Death Eater who couldn't even please Voldemort, no matter how many people you tortured and murdered. You're a bigot, selfish and cowardly. I don't know what you're hiding from yourself, but I think you and your father have a lot in common."

Draco pounded his fist against the wall, making Hermione jump. He moved even closer, so close he could count her thick lashes, close enough to notice for the first time that her dark brown eyes held a tiny ring of golden brown around the pupils. He was trying to intimidate her, to move far enough into her personal space to make her afraid, but she didn't look afraid, and Draco was suddenly less angry and more fascinated. Had he ever really looked into her eyes before? Of course, he had last night, but he had been drunk and didn't remember seeing the three tiny lines creased into the skin beside her right eye, nor the near-invisible scar that crossed the bridge of her nose. Draco wondered if Hermione was noticing the same details in his own gray eyes.

Apparently not. Hermione always looked for an opportunity to take, and she took the one that had been offered. While Draco was staring enraptured into her eyes, she kicked him hard in the shin and threw her left shoulder into his chest, driving him back into the center of the hallway. She whirled around to open her bedroom door for safety, but Draco lunged forward and caught her wrist, pulling her back to himself. He kept a safe distance between them – _no need to get dazed again, Draco_ – but he took both her wrists in one hand and said, "You don't know me like you think you do, Granger. I don't care what you've believed your whole life, but just trust me; I'm not as much like my father as you might think."

"Trust you," she spat. Even when she had no way of defending herself, she still wouldn't give up. "I wouldn't trust you any more than I would Voldemort. You expect me to feel sorry for you just because you're cursed, but you deserve it. Your kind is despised enough by the Order; I can't imagine how unthinkable a deed you must have committed to make Voldemort hate you."

"Listen here, you persnickety little –"

"Oi, Malfoy!" Draco and Hermione both went dead silent. The shout had come from downstairs.

"Come on, where are you, mate?" came a different voice.

Draco let out a muttered curse as Hermione's eyes widened in fear. She started to whisper something to him, but Draco clapped a hand over her mouth. "It's Zabini and Nott," he whispered to her. "We can't let them see you." He looked around quickly and pulled her bedroom door open, motioning for her to go inside. "Hide. I'll try to get rid of them."

Hermione ducked into the room, and Draco turned to face the staircase. Blaise and Theodore rarely came by. Why now, of all times?

Theodore's head popped up above the landing. "Hey, Blaise, I found him!" He strolled casually up the stairs. "Who were you talking to, Malfoy?" he asked.

Draco froze. "I… I wasn't talking to anyone."

"That's a likely story," Blaise commented, following Theodore to the upstairs hallway. "We could hear you shouting from outside, Malfoy. We even listened once we got in here."

"Why, you –" Draco started.

"It was a woman's voice," Blaise interrupted. "And I know for a fact you'd be too scared to talk to your mother that way."

"And no Pureblood witch even knows how to get in," Theodore added.

Blaise grinned at Draco smugly. "So who's the girl?"

Draco sneered. "I talk to myself and do voice impressions at the same time."

"Sure," Blaise said patronizingly. "And I'm the master of the Elder Wand."

Theodore snorted a laugh. "Come on, mate. We won't tell anyone. How'd you get a girl in here?"

"I –"

Draco stopped short as he noticed Blaise poking Hermione's bedroom door. He wanted to tell him to stop, but he knew that would only make both Blaise and Theodore search the room thoroughly. They would know Hermione on sight; Draco couldn't risk that.

"Wait!" he said, trying to think of an excuse. Blaise stopped and looked at him curiously. "Uh… I, uh… I left my… um…that is…"

Blaise and Theodore shared a look, and both of them started for the door.

"No!" Draco threw himself in front of the door. "You're not allowed in there."

"Why not?" Theodore asked. "I stayed in there years ago."

"I know, but, um… it's a mess," Draco said weakly.

Theodore rolled his eyes, flicked his wand, and the door flew open. Draco jumped in ahead of them. Maybe he couldn't stop them from going inside, but he could at least try to protect Hermione when they found her.

"So where is she?" Blaise asked, glancing around the room.

"There's nobody in here except two gits who can't mind their own business."

"I'll agree to that," Theodore said, stepping away from Draco and Blaise. He went to his knees and looked under the bed; finding nothing, he moved to the chest of drawers and started poking around it.

Blaise didn't join in the search, but he seemed interested. Draco, on the other hand, was mystified. Where could she have gone? There was only one window, and the vines around it were immovable. The room had no closet, no vents, no other doors that Hermione could have gotten out of. He just hoped wherever she was, Blaise and Theodore wouldn't find her.

Theodore finally straightened and started to walk toward Draco, casting another glance around the room for good measure. "Well, Blaise, I guess ol' Malfoy's telling the truth."

Blaise gave them both a skeptical look and stepped into the center of the room himself. Draco held his breath as Blaise's dark eyes alighted on the bedroom door. Draco chanced a look over to make sure Hermione wasn't there, but he moved closer to it anyway. Blaise sauntered over and smirked at Draco before giving the wide-open door a sharp kick. Instead of hitting the wall, the door bounced off something behind it, and Theodore laughed as he realized what Blaise already had.

 _Oh, Merlin, please, no,_ Draco thought. It was no use to jump forward. Blaise was already nudging the door shut, revealing a nervous-looking Hermione pressed into the corner behind the door. Draco gave her a sheepish look.

"Oi, would you look at that, Blaise!" Theodore exclaimed. "What a dish! Malfoy, you really lucked out this time!"

Blaise didn't say anything, just stared at Hermione. Theodore whistled loudly, and Hermione glared at him.

Draco frowned at Blaise and Theodore. "All right, you've had your fun. You found her. Come on, let's go."

"Is this my old girl, Malfoy?" Theodore asked, ignoring Draco's comment. Draco shook his head no. "Nah, I didn't think so. Sure looks like her though."

"Who is she, Draco?" Blaise asked, speaking for the first time since he had seen Hermione.

Draco tried to recall the name of the girl whose place Hermione had taken. "Um… Amelia."

"Amelia what?" Blaise pressed.

"Thornberry," Draco said.

"It's Finberry," Hermione snapped from her corner.

"Aha!" Blaise shouted. Draco jumped, fearing the worst. "I knew it! That's Hermione Granger!"

Theodore gawked at Hermione. "No… no way! Draco, is it really her?"

Draco merely glared at them.

"Hermione Granger," Blaise drawled, starting to walk closer to her. Draco defensively moved to block his path, but Blaise kept staring at Hermione. "You've been assumed dead for years. How are you even alive, much less here in Malfoy's cursed house?"

"Yeah," Theodore added. "How did you get her in here, Malfoy?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "I didn't get her in here. My mother bought her at a slave market and bound her to me."

Blaise laughed out loud, and Theodore shook his head in amazement. "Does your mother know who she is?"

"No," Draco replied. "She thinks she's Amelia Finberry, a girl who's been on the run for years. Granger somehow got switched with her and bought by my mother as company for me. I'm assuming I can count on you two to keep this a secret?"

"Yeah, sure," Theodore agreed, giving Hermione a suggestive smile.

"Draco," Blaise said seriously, "you do know that if Voldemort finds out she's here, it's not going to end well, right?"

"Yeah, what's he going to do, Zabini?" Draco hissed. "I'm already trapped in my own home without magic. If he killed me, he'd be liberating me."

Blaise nodded his head to concede, and Theodore added, "Besides, Malfoy's probably having the best time of his life with a bird like this as his slave. Malfoy, how much is it to rent her?"

"You can't rent her," Draco said flatly.

Blaise still appeared to be sizing up the situation. "Draco, have you thought about turning her in to Voldemort? I mean, you never know; that could be your ticket to get out of this curse."

"No," Draco said, then amended his statement. "I mean, of course I've thought about it. But I just can't do it. Granger's been through as much or more than any of us, and she's survived this far. Seems a shame to just offer her up as a sacrifice after all she's lived through."

Blaise and Theodore stared at Draco incredulously. "Malfoy, you're not actually…" Blaise said. "You haven't… fallen for her?"

"Merlin, no!" Draco exclaimed, trying to push the thoughts of the moment when he had gotten lost in her eyes in the hallway out of his mind. "I just feel sorry for her, that's all."

"Well, this beats all I've ever seen," Blaise admitted.

"If you don't want her, I'll take her," Theodore said, his smile widening as Hermione scowled at him.

"Aw, Theo, don't rob Draco of the only good time he's had in years," Blaise said teasingly. "I'd say Granger's giving Draco a run for his money on stubbornness. And that's always fun to tame. After all, it's the lionesses that fight the wildest and fall the hardest," he added with a wink.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You two are morons. Now you've got to swear, not a word to anyone. Not even your families or closest friends. No one can be trusted."

"Yeah, yeah, we won't tell anyone, Malfoy," Theodore said. "Though I'd be a whole lot more willing to agree to this if I knew I'd get a turn with her."

"She's mine, Theodore. Don't come near her."

Blaise added his promise as well, and Draco escorted his friends out of the room.

"Nice to see you again, Granger!" Theodore called out. "Hope to see you again soon… with less people around!"

"I'd rather give myself up to Voldemort!" Hermione shouted, slamming the door of all three of their faces.

"Well," Blaise said after a moment. "Granger hasn't changed much."

* * *

Two hours later, Draco was standing at Hermione's door again, much calmer since Blaise and Theodore had left the house. He cleared his throat. "Granger?" he called. "If you wouldn't mind coming out here a second, I'd like to talk to you."

Silence. Then the door opened and Hermione appeared, looking slightly irritated. "Good. I want to talk to you, too."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "All right. I just wanted to apologize for Blaise and Theodore. I didn't know they were coming, or I wouldn't have let them see you."

"Well, all I can say is they better keep their promise," Hermione huffed. "Because if they don't, you and I both are going to be worse off."

"They will," Draco assured her, rolling his eyes upwards. "They're not all bad, you know. Just because they're Slytherins doesn't automatically make them Death Eaters."

"Zabini and Nott aren't Death Eaters?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"No. Nott's father is, but Blaise works in the Ministry treasury and Theodore has a job with the _Daily Prophet_."

"Oh." Hermione cast her gaze down.

Draco tried to ignore her downcast look. "Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for the things they said. I'll try to talk to them and keep them away from you in general. Though, that may be difficult with Theodore. He's kind of known for being persistent with women."

Hermione snorted. "He'll get over it. And this brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about." Draco swallowed hard at the fierce gleam in Hermione's eye. "I just want you to know that I don't buy this whole being nice to me campaign. I don't care what you said earlier; I just want you to know that I'm not falling for it."

Draco gave her a puzzled look. "Granger, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this web you're spinning! I wasn't nicknamed the Brightest Witch of the Age for nothing. I can read between the lines. You're going overboard to show me you've changed. You're pretending to treat me like an equal because you want something. You almost had me going for a second in the hallway earlier! I don't know what it is you're after, but I'm not going to give it to you without a ferocious fight."

"Granger," Draco said, "anything I've done towards you is real. You may not think I'm capable of changing my ways, but I hope you know that you're being very childish and… unfair. You used to talk about equality for the house-elves and the muggles and the muggleborns, but when it comes to forgiving a Pureblood, you just won't have any of it."

"I have no issue with forgiving a Pureblood," Hermione countered. "It's just Death Eaters whom I have trouble with."

"I'm not a Death Eater!"

"Well, you used to be! And an inch is as good as a mile when you're racing for your life."

Draco shook his head. "Fine. You're right. I used to be a Death Eater. But there's a very good reason why I'm not anymore and why I have this curse on me."

"And what is that?" Hermione demanded.

"I'm not going to tell you anything!" Draco shouted. "It's not like you'd listen even if I screamed it in your ear. You're just stubborn and unforgiving. Well, I don't care what you believe. I know the truth. Every bit of kindness I've shown for you is real." He didn't know why he did it, but he added, "Even the hallway."

Hermione looked affronted, then confused, then horrified. She took a few moments to compose herself before she spoke. "Maybe," she said in a low voice, "maybe we should just keep our distance from each other." Before Draco could ask her what she meant, she continued, "Because I have no intention of developing any sort of feelings for you other than indifference. My people will be coming for me soon enough, and until that time, I don't think we should have any contact with each other besides a master and servant relationship. Tell me what duties you expect from me, and I'll keep my distance from you while I complete them."

Draco didn't know what to say. He really didn't know what he had expected her to say, but she had still managed to surprise him. After a moment, he said, "That's fine, Granger. That's just fine."

* * *

"So how long do you think it'll be before old Malfoy decides he's in love with Granger?" Theodore asked. He and Blaise had apparated to the Three Broomsticks from Draco's house and were currently having lunch and discussing what they had just seen.

Blaise shrugged. "Who knows? Isolation can do mad things to a man."

"Yeah, especially when he's got someone who looks like Granger living in his house with him. Alone. And without her wand to hex him with."

"True," Blaise agreed, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I don't think it's Draco who'll have the problem admitting his feelings; like you said, he's been without female company for years, and he's always been a little more emotional than most of us. Granger will be the real challenge. She's as stubborn as a mule, and I'm sure she's heard all about Draco's reputation as a Death Eater."

"Do you think she knows about what Draco did that got him cursed?" Theodore asked.

"Nah. She was acting pretty hostile toward him if their shouting match is anything to go by. I'd say she'd feel a little different if she knew."

"Do you think we should tell her?"

Blaise thought for a moment. "No. He must have some reason for not telling her yet. He'll tell her when he's ready."

"Mmhmm," Theodore replied. "So if Granger still sees him as an enemy, do you think she's ever come around to liking Draco back?"

Blaise shrugged again. "I don't know. She's pretty persistent, but then so is Draco. I'd say if he falls in love with her, he'll do anything he can to prove his love to her. And sharing their space certainly will be on his side."

"Do you think he's forced her to sleep with him yet?"

"Nah, probably not. Draco's not the type for rape, especially with someone like Granger. She'd probably claw his eyes out if he tried anything."

Theodore laughed. "So the question isn't _if_ they'll fall in love, but _when_."

"Yeah, I guess," Blaise said.

Theodore grinned. "How about a bet, Zabini?"

"A bet?" Blaise asked skeptically.

"Yeah! I'll bet you thirty galleons that Granger will take at least a year to admit her feelings. Maybe even longer."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "A year? No way." His eyes glimmered. "I say Granger will not only fall in love with Draco, but she'll admit it and give in to him by…" Blaise thought for a moment. "By Christmas."

Theodore nearly spat out his drink. "Christmas? Are you daft? That's barely four months! Give the girl some credit, Blaise."

"Nope," Blaise said resolutely. "I say by Christmas."

"Forty galleons says she won't."

Blaise was quiet. "Fifty," he finally said. "If Granger admits that she's in love with Draco by Christmas, you give me fifty galleons. If they're still at odds by then, I give you fifty."

Theodore gave a wolf's smile. "Done."

They both were quiet for a few moments as they ate, but Theodore finally asked, "In the meantime, do you think Granger would fancy an evening with me?"

* * *

Hermione sat in the kitchen later that evening, quietly eating the beans and rice she had fixed for herself. She had offered to make some for Draco, but he denied her offer, choosing his Firewhiskey bottle over her cooking. Hermione couldn't help but wonder how often he ate, if ever. He was painfully thin, and his gaunt features only served to exaggerate the scars on his face.

Hermione toyed with her fork as she mulled over the day's events. She and Draco had had a violent disagreement that morning, but still, when he stared into her eyes with such intensity and an almost childlike curiosity, Hermione had felt the spark, too. She had taken the opportunity to get out of his hold, but still… she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened next had she not gotten free.

Could she trust him? He certainly didn't seem to want to hurt her. When they fought, his words – at least when he was sober – were at least somewhat civil. He had even apologized for calling her a Mudblood! Despite her claims, Hermione couldn't detect any insincerity in his words, no matter how hard she tried. She didn't know why he was attempting at a truce between them, unless he had just been alone for so long that he wanted a friend desperately. Desperately enough to want _her_ as his friend.

Hermione could understand loneliness well enough. She had lived with it most of her life.

She narrowed her eyes resolutely as she took her last bite of her dinner. She wouldn't fall for his tricks or allow herself to be seduced by him, but if all he wanted was a friend, she supposed she could be that for him. At least until the Order came for her.

Hermione picked up her dishes and washed them, taking as much time as she could. Draco was in the sitting room, and she wasn't looking forward to walking through to the staircase. After spending as much time as she could polishing the dishes, Hermione turned around, took a deep breath, and marched out of the kitchen, into the dining room, and through the entry hall.

When she reached the sitting room, she was surprised not to see Draco anywhere inside. However, as she passed the center of the room, she noticed him across from her, his head resting on one arm as he slumped into the couch. He was passed out cold, Hermione realized.

She took a few cautious steps toward him, making sure he wasn't awake, and picked up the Firewhiskey bottle on the table in front of him. It was more than half full. Hermione smiled to herself. So he was keeping his word about being careful after all.

Hermione started for the staircase, but just before she reached the first step, she turned, walked back to the couch, and pulled a wool blanket off the top of the couch. The night was chilly, and Hermione didn't know how long it might be before Draco woke up. She spread the blanket over him, pausing just a moment to look at the hand that was visible from under the blanket. There were fewer scars on his hands than his face, but they appeared to be much deeper. _He was lucky not to lose his hands_ , Hermione thought.

Not for the first time, Hermione found herself wondering what it was that Draco had done to warrant such a terrible punishment. It must have been something dreadful.

Satisfied that she had done her job as a servant – and friend, she reminded herself – Hermione returned to the staircase and retreated to her room. She dreamed in shades of silver that night. White and silver.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading my story! Even if you don't follow or review, I hope you're enjoying reading this fanfic as much as I am writing it. I wrote most of this chapter slightly more in Draco's POV, but I tried not to reveal too much. Fear not and be patient; secrets will be revealed in their own time!

Also, may I just say how kind and encouraging all my reviews have been. You are all such fantastic people, and I'm glad you like this concept. I hope it turns out the way you're expecting.

P.S. 98, I have no idea why your name didn't type out all the way in my last A/N, but I extend my thanks to you, as well as Dancing-Souls, Jake Jackson, RosieJones95, Jillianthompson24, and the two anons. You all rock and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll see you soon!


	6. Chapter 5: Just a Little Change

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 5: Just a Little Change

Hermione's world was a much quieter place since she had told Draco how she felt. She honestly hadn't been sure whether or not he would keep his word and stay away from her, but he did. Several days had passed since their last big argument, and Hermione had hardly seen Draco at all since then.

Instead, every morning there was a new note posted to the outside of her bedroom door. On the paper was a short list of duties which Hermione was expected to fulfill by the end of the day. She fixed his meals and left them on the table, choosing to eat in her room rather than chance facing him. She had scrubbed all the floors of the second story and some of the third. She had even managed to find the tower, which seemed to hold little else than a few bookshelves. Hermione had made a mental note to return when she had time and see what books were up there.

The work was arduous, but Hermione didn't mind it. She was glad to have something to do, a way to keep busy. She could imagine that the manor would be very beautiful if it had not been laid to such waste in the years following Draco's curse.

Besides, it gave her time to think of ways to escape. The only problem was, she hadn't come up with a single idea.

The only ways out of the castle were entirely blocked with heavy thorn vines, and even if Hermione managed to pry them away, she still was bound to Draco. The thought made her blood boil, but she couldn't ignore the facts. Draco was bound to the house, and Hermione was bound to him, which meant she couldn't leave the castle. Just thinking about it was enough to make her go crazy.

She was sure the Order would come for her eventually; they had probably already been looking for her. It could take weeks, even months, for them to track her down, obscured as her location was. Without her magic, she had no way of sending them a message. And even if they found her, how could they get her out? They couldn't enter, and Hermione couldn't leave. It seemed like a hopeless situation.

Still, Hermione was making the best of it. The third floor loo was sparkling.

Hermione picked up her bucket of water and started hauling it and her mop to the next room. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and pulled open the next door to her right. It, too, was empty except for a few chairs and a bureau _. It would seem Malfoy didn't inherit any of his mother's decorating abilities_ , Hermione thought to herself.

She set the bucket down heavily and groaned, stretching her back in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness. She had been mopping for four hours now; it was probably close to noon. Hermione leaned her broom against the wall and wiped her hands on her pants, heading for the staircase.

Hermione made a sandwich for Draco and set it on the counter with a glass of water. She started out the door with her own plate but suddenly stopped and turned back. She rummaged through the cupboard for a moment before pulling out a tiny glass vial with green liquid inside. The vial was still cracked from when Draco threw it against the wall. Hermione's first reflex was to pull out her wand and charm the crack away, but she shook her head at her forgetfulness. Old habits died hard.

She set the little bottle next to Draco's sandwich. It had been chilly in the house that morning, and Hermione guessed that his scars had probably been hurting him.

* * *

Hermione sat cross-legged in the tower, her back against the wall as she finished her sandwich and flipped through a spell book she had found in one of the bookcases. It was a lot like the other three she had looked through; she already knew most of the spells, and the ones she didn't know couldn't help her without a wand. So far, she hadn't come across a thing that would help her with her current situation. Without magic, the spells wouldn't do her any good, but if she could find a few reverse spells, it could make all the difference when the Order finally found her.

Hermione sighed and snapped the book shut. Not for the first time, she wished desperately that she hadn't come by herself. It had been a foolish mistake, and one that had cost her dearly. What if the Order couldn't find her? What if they looked for her and gave her up for dead? Surely they wouldn't do that.

However, a part of her almost hoped they wouldn't come after her. Despite her fiercest hopes, the Order could be put in great danger if they came on too strong, and Hermione hoped they would put the safety of the group before her personal safety.

Then Hermione had a terrible thought. What if someone could use Legilimency against her to figure out the Order's whereabouts? She knew Occlumency well enough, but without her wand, she was considerably weaker. Draco probably couldn't do it, but Hermione had no trust that Blaise or Theodore – or even Narcissa – wouldn't try it. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She would rather be dead than betray her friends, even unknowingly.

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon attempting to forget her worries by throwing herself into her work. The two spare bedrooms were done in a couple of hours, and by dinnertime, Hermione had finished scrubbing the floor of the last room on the third story.

Satisfied with her work, Hermione ran up the stairs to the tower, grabbed the books she had been reading, and stashed them under her bed on the second floor. Even if she couldn't use any of the spells to escape, she still might find something useful.

Returning to the kitchen to start dinner, Hermione cast a glance past Draco's open bedroom door as she passed it. It was empty. Hermione wondered where he had been all day.

A bit of weak twilight streamed through the vines over the kitchen's single window. It cast odd patterns on the gray stone floor as Hermione walked across them, the dust in the air kicking up at her movements. The kitchen would be her next job, she decided, as long as Draco didn't give her some other mammoth task.

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering to Draco as she fixed their dinner. Her mind kept going back to their big fight in the entry hall, and that strange look he had given her in the hallway. What did it all mean? Surely he wasn't attracted to her. No matter what he insisted, Draco Malfoy had always thought of her as the scum of the earth. His motives may not make any sense, but Hermione was positive that he was trying to use her for something.

Still, if he wanted her, why not just take her? She would be practically defenseless against him if he really decided to chase her. It was her worst nightmare, and she was glad he wasn't making any advances toward her, but she couldn't help but wonder what his reasoning was. Hermione shook her head. It was all a big mystery.

Hermione had just finished toasting some bread in the oven when she heard the front door swing open and a feminine voice call out, "Draco!"

It sounded like Narcissa. The voice called again, followed by a few echoing steps in the entry hall. Hermione stayed quiet. She hoped Narcissa wouldn't notice her presence. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with both Malfoys at once.

Narcissa shouted for her son once more before Hermione heard a door slam upstairs and quick footfalls coming down the staircase. "Hello, Mum," Hermione heard Draco say.

"Hello, dear," Narcissa replied. "My, this place is clean. You've been putting her to work, haven't you?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so," Draco replied, sounding nervous.

Hermione set a piece of bread on each of the plates, then grabbed hers and started for the opposite doorway. If she could sneak around through the three empty rooms, she could probably go unnoticed.

No such luck. Narcissa's footsteps sounded closer as she rang out, "And what is that wonderful smell? It almost smells like chicken. I do hope you've been eating, Draco," she said as she rounded the corner. Narcissa stopped, eyebrows high, when she saw Hermione, half-in and half-out of the kitchen. "Oh, well, there she is."

Draco's head appeared around the corner. He swallowed as he followed his mother through the dining room and into the kitchen. "Oh, uh, I guess so."

Hermione sighed and stepped back into the kitchen. Narcissa didn't say anything at first, just looking at Hermione curiously and then at the plate of food in her hand. She allowed herself a slight smile. "Well, Amelia Finberry, it's good to see that you're making my son eat. He's thinner than a rail these days. I hope he's doing better now."

"Mum," Draco warned.

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione replied curtly.

Narcissa nodded approvingly and turned back to Draco. "Well, how are you feeling, Draco? It was a bit colder today than usual. I hope you didn't feel too poorly."

"No, I took the painkiller and felt all right," Draco answered, avoiding Hermione's eyes.

Narcissa noticed. "Well, good. I'm glad." She glanced back at Hermione. "How is the girl working out for you?"

"She's fine."

"Do you get along?"

"Well enough."

Narcissa frowned. "Well enough? Now, Draco, that's not an answer."

"What answer would you prefer?" Draco asked.

"Well, does she do what you ask her to do? Does she work hard? Does she talk back? I'm sure it's hard to discipline a slave without magic, but I'm sure you know how to put her in her place."

"Mum!" Draco broke in. "Everything is fine. She has her duties, I have my work. We stay busy, we avoid each other's paths, and it all works out nicely." Draco chanced a look at Hermione, who simply stared at him. She hoped her hands weren't shaking.

Narcissa gave Draco a suspicious eye, then turned to Hermione. "And what are your thoughts? Are you finding this arrangement suitable?"

Hermione tried to keep her voice steady. "Whether I am or not, I'm making the best of the situation. I'm keeping busy."

"I see," Narcissa replied after a short pause. She glanced at Draco then asked Hermione, "Has he been drinking at all?"

Draco spluttered, and Hermione answered, "Only a little, ma'am."

Narcissa pursed her lips and eyed the plate of food on the counter. "Well," she said. "I don't want to interrupt your dinner, Draco. I'll be going. Is there anything you need?"

Draco shook his head. "No, Mum. I'm fine. Are you sure you can't stay?"

Narcissa gave him a fond smile, but Hermione spoke before she could. "I can make more food if you want to stay," Hermione offered. "You can have mine. I'll eat later."

Draco agreed. "Yes, Mum. I'm not very hungry if you want mine."

"Oh, dear, no," Narcissa replied, looking a bit flustered but pleased. "I only came to see you, Draco. I don't want –"

"You're not barging in on anything," Draco replied firmly. "Um, Finberry, give her my plate."

Narcissa shook her head firmly as Hermione handed her Draco's plate. "No, Draco, you need to eat. I'll have dinner when I get home."

"I insist, Mum," Draco said, guiding her to sit at the kitchen table. "I have some things I want to talk to you about."

Narcissa was silent for a moment, looking uncomfortable as she glanced between Draco and Hermione. At last she sighed. "All right, Draco. Thank you. And thank you," she added, nodding to Hermione.

Hermione nodded back and set her own plate in front of Draco as he sat at the table. She was already out the door and on the staircase before he could protest.

* * *

Fleur Weasley and Michael Corner Apparated into the meeting room of the Fortress at the same time, followed seconds later by Neville, Luna, and a disheveled-looking Susan Bones. George leaped to his feet and shouted for the rest of the Order. Seamus and Parvati jerked their heads up from the table, where they had fallen asleep. Romilda and Dean, followed closely by Padma, Millicent, Lee, and Nigel, ran in moments later.

"Well?" George demanded, holding out his hand to steady Neville.

The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Neville shook his head defeatedly. "Not a sign."

A collective groan rose up through the Order, and Parvati dropped into a nearby chair, one hand over her mouth. Michael helped Susan into a seat and began examining a large cut on her cheek.

"What happened?" Lee asked.

Neville sat down as well, running a hand through his hair. "We searched everywhere. We took turns going into the slave pavilions, and we went through all the stores, all the alleyways. Luna even asked for a transcript of the slave lists, but the bloke wouldn't show her. Michael and Fleur went down to the old Hogwarts ruins, but they didn't find anything either."

"What happened to Susan?" Romilda queried.

Neville shook his head. "A stupid move on our part. I asked one of the women at a vegetable stand if she had seen any unfamiliar witches around, and while I was over there, someone recognized Susan and started calling out to her. Naturally, Susan ran, and I had to catch up with her. That got a lot of attention, and then I couldn't find Luna so we could Apparate out… It was a big mess. Susan got caught by one of the men, and I had to wrestle him off of her. Luna found us, and we Apparated to Hogwarts, the back here."

Dean whistled softly. "You're lucky you got out of there."

"I know."

"What does this mean, Neville?" Millicent asked. "For all of us?"

Neville sighed again. "It means Luna, Susan, and I can't go on any more missions – at least not for a while. We can't risk it. I think Michael and Fleur will be all right, but we're going to have to use Polyjuice Potions every time we go out. I know it's precious, but we can't chance being recognized. If one is caught, it could mean we all lose everything."

"Any sign of Dennis?" Nigel asked. He looked and sounded very discouraged.

Luna gave him a small smile. "We've been on the lookout for him, Nigel. I'm sure we'll find something soon."

George looked at Neville seriously. "What about Hermione, Neville? We can't just give up on her."

"Nobody said anything about giving up, George," Neville said evenly. "We just need different tactics is all."

"I told you, I'll go," George replied. "I'll go search by myself if it's safer that way."

"George," Fleur said gently, "eet ees too dangerous. You are perhaps at more reesk than any of us."

"Fleur's right," Neville agreed. "We can't lose you, George. And everyone in the Ministry knows you're still alive."

George grimaced. "I know. I just wish I could do something to help."

"You are helping, George," Padma piped up. "You help run things here when Neville's gone."

George shook his head but didn't say anything. Neville leaned back in his chair and glanced around the table. "Where's everybody else?"

Seamus looked up. "Well, Penelope and Oliver are manning the watchtowers, and Cho is trying to get some sleep."

Neville nodded. "We could all use some of that."

"Sleep isn't going to help Hermione," George countered.

Neville laid his head on his forearms and didn't reply. The meeting room was in total silence for a while. Until they heard the shout.

Cho slid into the room, her face a mask of excitement. "Neville! Everyone! I just got an owl from Katie Bell! She's found Dennis!"

* * *

Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief when she heard Narcissa and Draco saying goodbye and then the magical sealing of the front door. It wasn't so much a genuine dislike for the woman; it was more of a built-in mistrust for anyone affiliated with Voldemort. Even though Narcissa was unaware of her identity, Hermione couldn't help but feel unsafe around her, no matter what Draco said.

She was starving, but she decided to wait a few more minutes before going down to the kitchen. She didn't know what had possessed her to give her plate to Draco – it certainly wasn't a desire to show off in front of Narcissa – but she suspected that Draco and Narcissa usually had dinner together. Hermione pitied the older woman; it was the only time she ever got to see her son, and Hermione didn't want to rob her of that.

After fifteen minutes, Hermione decided that Draco was probably gone and that it was safe to go down to the kitchen. She padded down the hall quietly, noting that Draco's bedroom door was shut. That was a good sign.

However, her deductions were proved wrong when she stepped into the kitchen and found Draco… washing the dishes?

Draco looked as surprised as Hermione felt when he turned around and saw her. "Oh, Granger. Sorry, I, uh…" He didn't seem to know what to say. "I was just… doing the dishes."

Hermione blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah." He glanced around nervously, trying not to meet her eyes. His gaze landed on the plate sitting on the table. "Oh! Here. I made you some dinner. I'm not much of a cook, but, uh…"

Hermione took the offered plate and looked at him incredulously. "You made this?"

"Yeah. I mean, I thought it was the least I could do. You gave me your plate."

Hermione shrugged. "It's what any slave would do."

"Still, you didn't have to do that." He was quiet for a moment. "You didn't have to be so cordial to my mother, either. It was very… polite of you."

"It was nothing," Hermione said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"It was something," he insisted. "It's the one time we get to see each other. I was glad to get to talk to her. Thanks for that."

Hermione shrugged again. "Sure."

Neither of them spoke, but Draco finally said, "And thanks for setting my medicine out."

"I noticed it was gone when I was making dinner," she commented.

"Yeah. How did you know I needed it?"

"It was cold this morning. I figured your scars would be acting up."

"They were. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Was it warmer in the kitchen than it had been earlier?

Draco nodded absently, then turned back to the sink and kept washing the dishes. Hermione watched him for a moment before saying, "I'll finish the dishes, if you want."

Draco didn't turn around. "No, it's all right. You're probably tired from all the work you've been doing. You can go ahead and eat. I'll finish the dishes."

Hermione bit her lip. So he was playing the nice card again. "You don't have to do that."

"I know."

His simple response left little room for argument. Hermione shrugged and started for the door. "I'll eat in my room, if that's all right?"

"Sure," he replied. "You can set your plate outside your door when you're done. I'll come and get them."

Hermione tried not to sound harsh. "I am capable of walking down a staircase, you know."

"I know."

Well. There was no point in protesting, Hermione assumed. She turned and went back to her room without a word.

* * *

Hermione closed the book she had been reading with a sigh. While eating the simple meal Draco had fixed for her, she had thumbed through the remaining two books she had found in the tower. So far, nothing seemed to be helpful.

Hermione's thoughts drifted to Draco. Why had she been so rude earlier? He was just trying to pay her back for her good deed. Even if he had ulterior motives, washing the dishes and making her dinner had been a genuinely kind thing to do, and Hermione regretted acting so suspicious toward him. She made up her mind to try to be more receptive in the future. Receptive, not vulnerable.

Draco seemed to be honest, she couldn't help but think. He hadn't done anything to make her think he was using her or hoped to betray her. If he wanted to do that, he probably would have handed her over to Voldemort already. Besides, Narcissa had said he was lonely and possibly even suicidal. It had to have been pure torture living alone and without magic for five years. Perhaps he really did just want a friend.

Hermione nodded her head resolutely. She would at least do him that favor.

She stood from her bed and tucked the spell books under her bed. Maybe she would read them later if she couldn't find anything else of interest in the tower. She picked up her plate and water glass and headed for the door. When she opened it to set her plate down, she noticed that something was already there.

It was a stack of books. Setting her plate down, Hermione slid her finger down the bindings of the books. Several appeared to be history books, and others were magical instruction accounts, biographies, and novels. Had Draco put those there? Surely Narcissa hadn't. She hadn't even left the kitchen.

Then Hermione realized. Draco hadn't known how to give her the books himself, so he devised a way to get them to her without embarrassing himself and without making her wonder who they were for. Hermione bit back a laugh. Even though they weren't necessarily the books she would have picked on her own, it had been a thoughtful gesture, and she wondered if she should be suspicious of it. She decided to just accept them and move on. Hermione was willing to bet money that she wouldn't be seeing Draco much for the next few days.

As she closed her door and started flipping through the first of the history books, Hermione thought that maybe it wouldn't be so hard to coexist with Draco as she had thought.

* * *

A/N: Hey, my wonderful readers! I would just like to say how sorry I am about how long it's taken me to write this latest chapter. School has been crazy lately, and I haven't had any time to write. I'm really sorry to have kept you waiting, but I hope this chapter makes up for it. And for those of you who weren't satisfied, well... the next chapter might be a little more to your taste ;) You have all been so sweet and encouraging with your reviews. It brightens my day when I see them!

Thank you all for reading my story! I'll see you as soon as I can with a new chapter! Happy days and sweet dreams to you all!


	7. Chapter 6: The Breakthrough

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 6: The Breakthrough

"Cho, this could mean all sorts of things. Are you positive Katie is the one who sent it?"

"Positive!" Cho declared. "Neville, Katie and I have been corresponding for four years now. I know her style."

"Still, messages can be faked very easily," Neville countered, giving Cho a tired look. "I know this is important, but losing our heads over this message and rushing into a trap set by the Death Eaters is the last thing we need to do, especially with Hermione and Dennis out there somewhere."

Katie Bell's owl had been simple: _Subject has been located. Can't disclose details in note. Meet at Rook house tomorrow at 9 PM._ Cho had become excited upon reading it, but Neville had his doubts.

"How could anyone know about this?" Cho pressed. "And how would they know who Katie was looking for anyway?"

Neville sighed in frustration. "They could have caught her looking for him, or they could have used Legilimency on her. Someone could be intercepting your messages even! Cho, if the note didn't ask us to meet her somewhere, I'd be more inclined to believe. But Katie has not once asked us to meet her since the War. It puts us and her in a lot of danger."

"What is this Rook house anyway?" George asked, shifting in his seat.

Neville shrugged. "That's another thing, Cho. I have no idea where Katie wants us to meet her, and I don't think we should make any sloppy guesses."

"She obviously expects someone here to know what she's talking about," Cho argued. "Let's just ask around until we can figure out what it means."

Neville shrugged again. "All right, go ahead. But no one is allowed to make a move until we all know for sure what's going on."

Cho nodded firmly. "Agreed."

* * *

Hermione's guess that she wouldn't see Draco for a while had been correct. It had been four days since she had last seen him.

It was best that way, Hermione told herself. Though the polite thing to do would be to thank him for the books he had left at her door, Draco was obviously not comfortable around her, and Hermione had no intention of going out of her way to thank him. Sure, maybe she had spent the last four days practicing what she would say if she _happened_ to bump into him, but didn't she do that with everything? Hermione was a planner, and her over-analysis of the situation was normal for her. At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

However, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the facts. Ever since the last time she saw him, Hermione had been unable to keep Draco Malfoy out of her thoughts. Despite monumental efforts to keep her mind on her work, Hermione always seemed to drift back to ideas about him. Theories, questions, and imagined scenarios kept popping unsummoned and unwanted into her mind, and she was powerless to stop them. Living in his house certainly wasn't helping, either.

Contrary to her first impression, Hermione had found the Draco's books to be immensely entertaining. She had already read two of the history books and one biography, but the others were intriguing, and Hermione found herself staying up later than usual to read. Novels weren't her favorite, either, but the adventure book Draco had given her was beyond interesting. Even the magical instruction manuals were informative, though she couldn't use them.

Despite what she wanted to admit to herself, Draco had picked out the exact books he knew she would like. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that, but it was at least better than being in constant conflict.

But a new problem had arisen. Hermione had run out of things to do.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and Hermione tapped her toes on the floor distractedly, her chin in her hand as she surveyed the living room and entry hall. In the nearly two weeks she had been in Draco's manor, Hermione had scrubbed, mopped, swept, dusted, and rearranged every single room in the house that she had access to. The kitchen had taken two whole days to finish, but Hermione found herself bored stiff without anything to do. The rooms would surely need cleaning again sometime, but what was she supposed to do until then? Apparently Draco had run out of ideas as well, because Hermione had found no note on the outside of her bedroom door in two days.

Hermione mentally listed all the rooms in the house, trying to picture each one in her head. She twisted her mouth to the side and shifted her position in an armchair, turning to face the staircase. She briefly wondered if she should try to look for Draco, but she guessed he was probably in one of the locked rooms. There was no reason to disturb him if he didn't want to be found.

Hermione sighed and stood from her seat, pacing the room aimlessly before suddenly striking on an idea. She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face as she dashed up to her room to look for a specific book. It was one of the spell books she had found in the tower while eating lunch. Opening one of the drawers in her bureau, Hermione selected the book she was searching for, sat on the edge of her bed, and began rifling through the pages quickly.

She smiled triumphantly as she found what she had been looking for: a map. She had found it several days ago when it slipped out from between the pages of the spell book, somewhere in a section on wandless magic. She couldn't be sure, but Hermione suspected it was a floorplan of the house.

Hermione planned to visit the basement first. Though she hadn't found the entrance to it yet, she knew it existed. While scrubbing the house-elf room, Hermione has discovered a small hole in the wooden floor – the only one in the entire house. By peering through the hole, Hermione was almost positive she had seen another room down there.

Hermione examined the map carefully. It was fairly crude, as most wizards' maps seemed to be, but it was legible enough. Hermione noticed that another tower had been sketched on the east side of the manor, but that it had been scratched out and replaced with the tower on the west side, which was drawn in slightly darker ink. A quick headcount told Hermione that there were approximately four rooms that she was locked out of – two on the third floor, the one next to the broom closet on the second floor, and the basement. None of the rooms were named on the map, so Hermione decided not to worry about the three upstairs rooms. If Draco didn't want her going in them, she wasn't going to risk making him angry.

Still, the basement was a puzzle. There was only one staircase marked on the floorplan, and it stretched from the third floor hallway, through the second floor, and landed halfway between the first floor's sitting room and entry hall. Three doors to the outside were scattered through the first floor, but Hermione had already tried them all and been blocked by the thorns. Every other room that appeared on the map seemed to lead to a room that Hermione already knew was there. Where was the door to the basement?

Then it hit her. A secret entrance! If Hermione had learned anything at Hogwarts – and she most certainly had – it was that secret entrances were everywhere, and in the least expected places. Hermione scanned the map for any signs of a trapdoor or moving wall. She came up with nothing, so she decided to do the next best thing – look for it herself.

Hermione started with the first floor. It seemed to be the most logical thing to do; secret entrances were usually at least close to their destinations, and the first floor was obviously the closest thing to the basement. The entry hall, sitting room, house-elf room, ballroom, kitchen, and dining room all proved entirely unproductive. Peering through the hole in the floor gave Hermione nothing to go on, as well, since the room below seemed to be completely darkened.

It wasn't until she tried every step on the staircase and found nothing that she had another idea. Perhaps the entrance to the basement was in one of the locked rooms, and that was why Draco didn't want her going in. The thought gave her pause. If he didn't want her in the basement, maybe she shouldn't even look for it. It was entirely possible that it was the basement that he disappeared off to every day.

Hermione shook her head in annoyance. So many questions, not enough answers.

Pulling out the map and taking a seat on the staircase, Hermione perused the boxes that represented the locked rooms on the map. The two on the third floor showed nothing, but the one on the second floor – the one that Draco had emerged from the day Hermione hid herself in the broom closet – showed promise. In the upper righthand corner of the room, a tiny, almost-invisible square had been sketched. Hermione smiled triumphantly. She had found it.

Twisting herself around to look at the door in question, Hermione wondered if it was safe to go inside. She stood and crept toward the door, peering in the small keyhole. It was hard to see, but Hermione didn't see Draco anywhere inside the room. In fact, it looked rather bare.

Hermione thought for a moment, then decided to take the risk. After all, what else was there to do? She had spent the last four days polishing candlesticks and reading novels; she was ready for a little adventure. Hermione smiled fondly as a wave of nostalgia washed over her; she could very easily imagine Harry and Ron and herself sneaking around Hogwarts, looking for a secret something or other.

Hermione pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind to save for another time. This was not the time to reminisce.

The first step was to pick the lock. Hermione didn't have any hairpins, so she went down to the kitchen and selected a small butter knife from the silverware drawer. Having never actually picked a lock before, Hermione started slowly, trying her best to be quiet. It wasn't long before she started to get the hang of it, and after only about ten minutes of tinkering, the lock clicked and the doorknob turned.

Hermione held her breath as the door slowly swung open. _At least the hinges aren't creaking_ , she thought. She supposed she could run into the broom closet again if she needed to, but Draco would know she was he one who had come in. And there were only so many places she would be able to hide before he found her.

Her curiosity overcoming her fear, Hermione peeked inside the room, surveying the surroundings. Draco was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. There was very little inside the room at all. A small card table sat in one corner, set off by two plain wooden chairs. Dark green curtains hung around the single, vine-blocked window, and a plain light fixture dangled from the ceiling. A fringed rug decorated the middle of the floor.

Hermione frowned to herself as she walked to the righthand corner. The floor, walls, and ceiling were solid stone, and no furniture or marks on the wall indicated any sort of oddity in the corner. Hermione pulled out the map and studied it. She had the right corner, but there was no indication of any secret entrance.

However, Hermione had never been one to give up. She started feeling around the corner, where the two walls met, looking for some sort of crack or indentation. Her fingers brushed a tiny lump in the wall. She was just about to lean in to examine it when she heard Draco's voice.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione gasped, startled after her intense concentration on the wall had been interrupted. Draco looked furious, his scarred face radiating his displeasure as he stood just outside the door. Hermione couldn't think of a single word to say in response.

"Well?" he demanded, taking a step inside the room. "I asked you a question, Granger. Answer it."

Her words failed her. "I…"

Draco strode forward, coming nearly halfway across the room before stopping. Hermione wanted to step back, but she didn't dare show him any fear. Besides, the wall was blocking her way.

"How did you get in here?" he said, his voice rising in anger.

Hermione swallowed hard and forced calmness into her voice. "I… I picked the lock."

Draco gave her an incredulous look. "With that?" he asked, gesturing towards the butter knife lying at Hermione's feet.

"Yeah," she replied. "I hope you don't mind."

"Don't mind?" he echoed scornfully. "If you have to pick a lock to get into a room in my house, do you think I mind you going in? I lock my doors for a reason, Granger! You had no right to do that."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said sincerely. "I honestly didn't mean to offend you."

Draco glared at her a moment longer, then seemed to calm slightly. "What are you doing in here anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just looking around."

"Oh, please," Draco snorted. "You don't do anything without having a reason. You were looking for something, weren't you?"

"W-what makes you say that?"

"I saw you feeling around the corner, Granger. I'm not an idiot."

Hermione frowned. "Fine. I was looking for something."

"Such as what?"

She paused, wondering if she should tell him. Finally she decided to go ahead and spit it out; she had come this far, hadn't she? "I was looking for the entrance to the basement."

A look of sheer confusion came over Draco's face. "The… the what?"

"The basement. I saw it through a crack in the floor."

"What floor?"

"The house-elf room," Hermione said. "The one next to the kitchen."

Draco shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I fixed that hole."

"It's not a bad one," she commented. "I can fix it, if you'd like."

"Don't worry about it," Draco sighed. "Anyway, there is no basement. I don't know what you saw, but the first floor is as low as the house goes."

"But –"

"I don't know what you saw," he said, cutting her off. "But it wasn't a basement."

Hermione set her jaw and gave Draco a defiant look. "I know what I saw, Malfoy. I can show it to you if you don't believe me."

"I don't have to see it!" Draco said, a bit rougher than necessary. "There is no basement. Even if there were, why would you be looking for it in here?"

Hermione faltered. "I, uh… I just kind of thought, maybe… um…"

"Granger, tell me," he said seriously. "I want to know."

Hermione gave an impatient sigh. "Fine. If you must know, I was looking for a secret entrance and saw that there was an extra square in this room on the floorplan of the house –"

"What?!" Draco screeched. "What floorplan? Granger, what have you been doing?"

"I haven't been doing anything wrong! I just found it in a spell book –"

"What spell book? I didn't give you any spell books!"

"You didn't give it to me; I found it."

"You found it?"

"Yeah, in the tower."

Draco suddenly looked angry enough to punch a wall. "The tower?! Granger, you dirty little sneak! You're not allowed up there! How many locks have you picked?"

"I didn't pick that lock!" Hermione retorted. "The tower door was unlocked when I went up to clean it."

Draco didn't stop glowering, but he did slow his torrent of accusations. "All right, maybe I didn't lock that one. But still, I didn't give you permission to go in there, and I didn't tell you to clean it, either."

"This was before you started leaving the notes on my door," Hermione shot back. "And I only went in to clean."

Draco nodded his head dismissively. "Fine, it was unlocked, you went in, found a spell book. Where did you get a floorplan?"

"It was inside one of the books. I was flipping through it one night –"

"You go up there at night?"

"No, I took it to my room and –"

"You took my books out of the tower?!" Hermione thought Draco might actually combust. "Granger!"

"Let me finish!" she shouted back. "I was flipping through one of the spell books and found the floorplan in the pages. I didn't have anything to do today, so I thought I'd look for the basement and see what I could do down there."

"There is no basement."

"I heard you the first three times," Hermione said irritably. "Anyway, I was looking for the basement entrance and saw a little square drawn in this room. I didn't want to bother you and I didn't know where you were, so I just picked the lock to look around."

Draco glared at her. "Where's the floorplan now?"

"Why?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Where is it, Granger!?"

"It's right here!" Hermione shouted, pulling the map out of her pocket. "Merlin, you're such an impatient, entitled git!"

Draco reached for the floorplan, but Hermione held on to it. "And why do you want this so bad? I wasn't hurting it."

"Just give it here, Granger. I don't have to explain myself to you."

Hermione glared back. "You're sure acting strange, Malfoy. You sure I didn't stumble onto some kind of secret plot? Secret Death Eater convention or something?"

Hermione knew her words stung Draco just by the look on his face, but she couldn't stop them. "I can assure you, Granger, that anything I want to keep a secret will remain a secret. I have no interest in baring my soul to you, so kindly hand me my map and let me leave you to the rest of your day."

Hermione pressed her lips together and gave Draco a look that could have melted diamonds. "Fine. Take your precious –"

She was just extending the map, moving her fingers slightly to get a better grip on it, when suddenly, the world started spinning. Hermione was vaguely aware of Draco's terrified expression and a faint sensation of queasiness, and then the whole world went black.

* * *

"Nope, I don't know anybody named Rook," Oliver Wood declared. "Maybe check with Romilda, or even Nigel. They've been doing a lot of bookkeeping since Hermione… left."

Cho nodded her head, looking somewhat downcast. "Okay. Thanks anyway, Oliver."

Oliver smiled. "No problem. Let me know if you find out anything, okay?"

"Okay."

Cho sighed as she put Katie's message back in its folder. She had been asking around for several hours now, and no one in the Order knew anything about anyone named Rook, or any establishment called Rook. Cho was positive the message was legitimate, but Neville was in charge. They couldn't do a thing until he said so.

Cho returned to the main meeting room, dragging her feet slowly. She dreaded telling Neville that no one had recognized the Rook house, but she had no choice. Oliver was the last one she hadn't asked.

As she approached the meeting room, Cho heard quiet voices drifting from the table. "He said a girl matching Hermione's description was killed by her owner just a couple of weeks ago," Seamus whispered. "Benedict Goyle owned her. Apparently she was Theodore Nott's before that."

"Hermione hasn't been gone that long," Neville replied, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse. "The timeframe doesn't match up. Even if Goyle was the one who bought her, Nott would have had to have bought her at least a month ago. Knowing him, probably longer."

"I know," Seamus agreed. "It just worried me, is all. Hermione's in a dangerous spot right now."

Cho decided to make her move. As she nudged the half-open door, Neville and Seamus looked up. "All the more reason we need to meet Katie," she said meaningfully.

Neville sighed. "How long have you been listening, Cho?"

"Just a second," she replied. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Neville nodded, and Seamus gestured to the file in Cho's hands. "Find out anything?"

Cho shook her head. "No. No one knows anyone named Rook, and no one has heard of a restaurant or a business called Rook."

"So we can't do anything," Neville pointed out. "Not if we don't know where to meet her."

Cho collapsed into a chair across from Seamus, setting the file on the table. "I know. I just… Katie wouldn't have sent this if she didn't think we'd understand what she meant."

Neville shrugged. "Yep. And that's why I don't want to rush into anything. If it's not Katie waiting for us, we'll be walking into a trap."

"I know," Cho sighed. "I just got excited, I guess. If it is Katie, I hope she understands why we don't meet her."

Neville nodded again, giving Cho a sympathetic smile. "I'm really sorry, Cho. I know how much this meant to you. I just don't want to take any chances." When Cho gave an understanding smile, Neville continued. "Well, since you're here, you might as well be the first to know. Seamus went into the Ministry to try to get some information on muggle girls sold recently. It would seem that at least seven girls have been bought in the main slave rackets, but there's no telling with the independent dealers. Considering Hermione went to Diagon Alley to look for Dennis, that's probably where she was captured, but there's no way of knowing for sure right now."

Seamus nodded. "What had me worried was hearing that a slave girl matching Hermione's description was killed just a few weeks ago. She belonged to Goyle's dad. Before that, Theodore Nott owned her."

Cho shook her head. "Poor Hermione. I hope so much she's all right."

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, staring into space, each lost in their own thoughts. They all looked up when they saw Luna Lovegood approach the door and poke her head in.

"Just got back from checking the wards," Luna said softly. "They're all secure."

"Great," Neville replied, giving her a tired smile.

"Luna!" Cho exclaimed, her eyes widening. "I forgot you weren't here!"

Luna smiled distractedly. "Hmm, that's comforting," she drawled.

Cho shook her head. "No, I… that's not what I meant. I've been asking around if anyone knows what Katie is talking about in her message."

"I'll be glad to help if I can," Luna said, taking a seat next to Neville.

Cho hurriedly pulled the message out of the folder and handed it to Luna. "This is the message from Katie Bell. We need to know if you know anyone named Rook or a building called Rook."

Luna tilted her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"It says here," Cho read, " _Meet at Rook house tomorrow at 9 PM._ Do you have any idea what that means?"

Luna thought for a moment, then broke out in a grin. "Well, of course I do. That's my house."

"Your house?" Neville asked incredulously.

"Yeah," she replied. "My house is shaped like a rook, the chess piece."

"That's it, Neville!" Cho shouted, jumping to her feet. "Now we know!"

Neville held up his hand. "One more thing, Luna. Did Katie Bell ever see your house? Did she know it was shaped like a rook?"

"Oh, yes," Luna mused. "She came once for a garden party my father threw for all the Quibbler subscribers. If I recall, she got there early with her mother and –"

"That's it," Cho interrupted, too excited to wait. "It's got to be Katie."

Neville furrowed his brow as he looked between Cho, Luna, and Seamus. Finally he spoke. "All right, Cho. Go get a team together. We'll do it."

* * *

The first thing Hermione remembered was cold, gray stone. At first she thought she was looking at the floor, but she soon realized she was staring up at the ceiling. A glance around her told her she was in her bedroom, lying on her bed. She frowned. Was it morning?

The day's previous events slowly began coming back to her, and Hermione shook her head to clear it. For reasons unknown, she had collapsed in the locked room after handing the map to Draco. Had the map somehow been jinxed? Could Draco have done it himself? Surely she hadn't just fainted!

Hermione had no time to ponder the dilemma any more, for no sooner had she raised her head to look around the room did Draco come around the corner, stopping short in her bedroom doorframe when he saw that she was awake.

"Oh, you're up," he said, sounding surprised and relieved at the same time.

"Yeah," she croaked, her voice sounding detached. "How long have I been out?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe two hours." He hesitated, but added, "I was afraid you might not wake up."

"Have you really gotten _that_ desperate, Malfoy?" she asked, trying to make a joke.

He gave her a half-smirk. "No. But I don't want a dead girl in my house. Merlin knows what kind of trouble you can get into as a ghost."

Hermione tried to laugh but found that her voice wasn't strong enough. Draco was slowly edging his way out the door again, so Hermione quickly asked, "What happened?"

Draco stopped his shuffling and swallowed hard. He looked very nervous. "Um… I guess you just kind of… passed out." At Hermione's suspicious look, he added, "You're probably just overworked."

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't _pass out_ , Malfoy. Something happened, and I want to know what it was." He started to shake his head, but Hermione broke in before he could start. "I've been honest with you. The least you can do is tell me why I collapsed."

For a moment, Hermione thought Draco was about to give her a snarky comment and walk away. But he didn't. Instead, he gave her an almost pleading look before sighing and turning his gaze on the floor. "I know. I guess… I guess there's no point in keeping it from you any longer. I don't know why I haven't told you; I guess I thought you wouldn't believe me."

Hermione pushed herself up so that she was leaning on her elbows. Draco's behavior was beyond unusual, and Hermione was anxious to hear his explanation. "Go on. I'm listening."

He raised his eyes to stare into hers. Hermione felt a sudden wave of… _something_ … come over her. She honestly thought she would believe anything he told her in that moment.

"It's a portkey," Draco said bluntly.

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. "A… a what?"

"A portkey. The map of the house is a portkey. Only one little part of it is, though. I don't know how you didn't hit on it before that, but you must have put your finger on it when you were handing me the map."

"A portkey?" Hermione repeated. "A portkey to where?"

"Well…" Draco mumbled. "This is the tricky part." He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and said something else. "I guess when you touched it, it tried to transport you, but your magical bond to the house kept you from leaving. I'll admit, I tried it myself years ago. I was out cold for hours before I woke up. I guess it just doesn't work against such strong bonds."

"Okay," Hermione interjected. "I get it. But you didn't answer my question. Where does the portkey lead?"

Draco sighed again, then began slowly walking across the room to her bed. Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position, trying to look defensive. Draco was not deterred, however, and knelt down next to the bed, staring into her eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze. Hermione found herself almost entranced. Was he hypnotizing her? Or had his eyes always been a crystal-clear gray? Did she see her reflection in the milky scar in his right eye?

Draco finally spoke, his voice thick and hushed. "The portkey leads to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione frowned. "Grimmauld Place? But that's been abandoned for years."

"I know," he replied. "That's why it was perfect. My contact and I used to meet there, and we used Portkeys to stay undetected."

"Your contact? Undetected?" Hermione echoed. "Malfoy, what are you talking about?"

Draco's eyes bore into hers with an intensity Hermione didn't know he possessed. It was as though he were staring directly into her soul. Hermione felt her pulse quickening, her throat getting dry.

"Hermione," he said softly. _Hermione._ Had he ever called her by her first name?

"Hermione," he said again. "I hope you'll believe me when I tell you this."

"Tell me," Hermione said wonderingly.

Draco implored her with his eyes as he spoke. "Hermione, the reason I have this portkey, the reason Voldemort cursed me in this house… the reason for all this is, I betrayed the Death Eaters. I tried to lead an uprising. Hermione, I know about the Order, and I almost did it. I almost made it right. I almost set you all free."

* * *

A/N: Well, how about that! I hope the twist came out as well as it did in my head. I also hope it's satisfactory. I'm sorry this chapter took a while to publish as well. I probably will get a chapter done per week, so I hope that's all right. If not... well, that's all I got!

Once again, thank you so much for reading this story. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. To all my followers, reviewers, and lurkers, you are the absolute best and I hope your week is filled with all your favorite things! Until then!


	8. Chapter 7: Learning You Were Wrong

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 7: Learning You Were Wrong

" _Oh, come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove that_ –"

Blaise grimaced. "Nott, if you don't shut up, I'll turn you into a swallow."

"A swallow?" Theodore echoed, the grin never leaving his face. "Why a swallow?"

"Well, maybe if you were a bird, you'd be able to sing on key."

Theodore laughed as Blaise shook his head in annoyance. "All right, I'll stop. But I do need some practice." He smirked. "Maybe serenading Granger with some sincere ballads will soften her stone-cold heart."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "And stop talking like a poet. Granger wouldn't even fall for you if you erased her memory. Just forget about it."

"I'm not giving up," Theodore said cheerfully. "I don't care if she hates me; the stubborn ones are always the most fun to tame. Besides –"

"Besides nothing. She's Draco's girl, and we've got a bet. If you whisk her away before Christmas, I'll owe you fifty galleons, and I'd prefer not to have to listen to you gloat about winning the bet _and_ getting Granger."

Theodore clucked his tongue. "Oh, well. It was worth a try." He took to whistling, keeping time with his steps as he and Blaise walked through a bustling street after work. "Say," he continued, giving Blaise a sly look. "What was Narcissa telling you the other day?"

Blaise frowned. "Spying on me again, eh?"

"I wasn't spying!" Theodore protested. "I just happened to be passing by your office and saw her in there with you. She looked worried, so I thought I might as well ask."

"If Narcissa wanted you to know, she would have told you."

"Maybe she forgot!" Theodore insisted. "Come on, is it about Draco?"

"I'm not going to say."

"Come on, Zabini. Spill!"

"What happened the last time I told you a secret?" Blaise asked. "I told you that I was planning on asking Carice Speck to go to your mother's Christmas party with me, and –"

"I didn't tell her you were going to ask her!"

"No, but you told Alexa Newbinger, and she told Evelyn Cavanaugh, and she told Carice. So Carice got another date and I had to go alone."

"At least I spared you a rejection," Theodore said. "And anyway, that was six years ago! I won't tell. Is it something Malfoy's done?"

"Narcissa told me in confidence, Theo."

Theodore heaved an impatient sigh. "And why would she tell you and not me?"

"Maybe because I'm the mature, responsible one, and you lost her mother's chandelier?"

"It was an accident," Theodore replied. "Just tell me, Blaise."

"I don't know…"

"I can always start singing again," he threatened.

Blaise threw his hands in the air. "Fine! I guess you won't tell anyone. Narcissa said that the Ministry is starting to get really nervous about a leak."

"A leak? Like a mole or something?"

"Yeah. Apparently there's a few secrets here and there that have been leaked, but no one knows who's doing it. There's even talk that the Order might have a spy in the Ministry."

"The Order?" Theodore repeated. "Oh, come on, Blaise. The Order doesn't exist anymore!"

Blaise shook his head. "Draco thought they did. Remember when he got caught? His contact got away, and a contact doesn't just materialize. Remember what a big deal it was, everyone trying to figure out who the guy was and where the rest of the survivors were hiding?"

"Yeah, I remember," Theodore agreed. "And I guess Granger had to come from somewhere."

"Exactly. It's what I've been thinking. Narcissa said the information really started to disappear around a month and a half ago. That's the same time Draco got Granger."

Theodore frowned. "You mean, you think Granger has been working for the Ministry as a spy?"

"No," Blaise said. "There's no way she could do that unrecognized. Besides, she'd never let herself be caught as a slave, and we'd have heard all about it if the Ministry knew Hermione Granger had been captured. No, my suspicion is that Granger is part of what's left of the Order. When she was captured, the spy in the Ministry started getting frantic looking for her."

"So why haven't they located her yet? If the Ministry _and_ the Order are looking for her, they'll find her sooner or later."

"Maybe, maybe not," Blaise argued. "According to all the records, Hermione Granger is dead, and Amelia Finberry was bought by Narcissa Malfoy. No one knows Granger is alive and in Draco's house except us and Narcissa."

"And Narcissa doesn't even know it's Granger!" Theodore realized.

"Exactly."

Theodore frowned again. "So you weren't going to tell me all this?"

"Nope. I just didn't want to hear you sing again."

Theodore laughed. "I'll have to remember to use that as blackmail. And I guess that's why we're going to Draco's, huh?"

"That's right," Blaise agreed. "I want to talk to Granger."

"As if she'd tell you anything," Theodore snorted.

"You never know. Maybe if she thinks we're on her side, she'll talk."

Theodore gave Blaise a questioning look. " _Are_ we on her side?"

Blaise shrugged. "I don't know. These days, who does?"

* * *

Hermione sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time, halfheartedly shutting the biography she had been reading. The life of Edgar Stroulger was interesting enough, but Hermione found that she couldn't stay focused.

Six days. It had been six long, slow, excruciating days since Draco Malfoy had revealed that he was on her side.

 _I betrayed the Death Eaters. I tried to lead an uprising. Hermione, I know about the Order, and I almost did it. I almost made it right. I almost set you all free._

How was she supposed to react to a statement like that? Should she believe him? Everything in Hermione's head screamed at her to be wary, to not trust a solitary thing that came out of the Slytherin traitor's mouth. But there was something somewhere inside of her that couldn't shake the feeling that he was telling the truth. Maybe it was the way he looked at her when he made his revelation, with guileless, saucer-wide eyes and a pleading gaze. Maybe it was his tone of voice: calm and gentle, yet firm and honest. If Draco was just acting and trying to fool her, Hermione thought he deserved an award.

It had been six days, and in those six days, Hermione had not seen, heard, or sensed Draco anywhere in the house. Granted, she had made it clear to him that she didn't want to talk to him – as soon as he told her he was with the Order, she had kicked him out of her room and called him a liar and a sadist – but the six days had passed agonizingly slowly. For the first two days, Hermione had not left her bedroom and had whacked mercilessly at the vines on her window. But when she finally ventured into the hallway on the third day, unable to ignore her stomach growls any longer, she found no sign of the other person living in the house with her.

In the three days following that, Hermione had only left her room once, and then only to fill her water jug with enough to last her for a while longer. Hermione knew that Narcissa would be coming by, probably in the next day or two, and she didn't want to think about it. Staying locked in her bedroom for days on end seemed pointless and potentially harmful to both of them, but Hermione wasn't ready to face Draco yet. Not after the way she screamed insults at him for mocking her and trying to deceive her. Not after blatantly ignoring him for six days. And especially not after she couldn't think of one reason that he might be lying.

Draco, Narcissa, Blaise, and Theodore had not said a single thing that contradicted Draco's claim. Though very little had been spoken about Draco's life before the curse – everyone seemed to skirt around it, actually – Draco had obviously done something to infuriate Voldemort, and what better way to do that than try to bring back the very thing that had fought Voldemort in the first place? Cursing Draco to a monotonous, everyday punishment seemed decidedly un-Voldemort-like, but Hermione supposed that there could very easily be a reason.

Still, six days had given birth to a thousand questions. Why did Draco decide to help the Order? Had he been working undercover for them all along? If so, why didn't she – one of the ringleaders of the remaining Order – know about him? How much did Draco know about the Order? Who was his contact? How many others in the Ministry know about the uprising? How many agreed with him? How many had _helped_ him? Did he still believe in what he had nearly died for? Was it safe to even ask?

It would appear that Hermione's curiosity was conquering her fear.

Stacking her biography on top of the rest of the books she had collected, Hermione stood from where she had been sitting on her bed and faced the door. Taking a deep breath and willing herself to have a little courage, she strode for the door and marched into the hallway, ready to confront Draco and satisfy her curiosity. If she had to eat some humble pie to get answers, then so be it.

However, Hermione's plan was better than the execution. Draco was nowhere to be found. After cautiously skulking through the hallway, discretely peeking into Draco's empty bedroom, and padding down the staircase, Hermione found herself slightly unsettled. A quick run-through of the first and third floors proved unsuccessful as well, and the only other option was the basement. Based on her previous experiences in trying to get into the basement, Hermione had no intention of trying to seek Draco out down there.

So she waited. A layer of dust had settled over the house once again in the last week, and Hermione took advantage of her situation. After dusting and sweeping through the main rooms of the first floor, Hermione set to work in the kitchen, whipping up a quick dinner of vegetable soup while she worked. She was surprised that the noise didn't attract Draco's attention. _But, then again, I did say some rather horrid things to him, didn't I?_ Hermione mused. Maybe an apology would be the best thing she could offer, whether he was telling the truth or not. Besides, if Draco really was on her side, the last thing she needed to do was keep antagonizing him.

Even though she didn't want to do it, Hermione finally talked herself into venturing into the basement. Spending a couple of hours out of her room had bolstered her courage, and she arduously began the climb to the second floor. She briefly considered fetching the map just in case she needed it, but she really didn't want to have to touch it again. She wasn't even sure where Draco had put it.

Pushing her doubts aside, Hermione nudged the second-floor door open, noting that the lock she had picked with the knife was not locked; rather, the door was cracked open and swung wide the moment she touched it. Nothing in the room appeared changed, but there was a long crack in the righthand corner of the walls that hadn't been there the last time Hermione examined it. In fact, a thin shaft of light was poking through the crack, further reassuring Hermione that Draco was down there.

She wondered how he would respond to her coming down to see him. She had made it very clear that she didn't want to see him, and he obviously didn't want her in the basement. But she just couldn't let the matter go any longer. Hermione's pulse quickened as she wondered what she would say. She regretted her flash temper lashing out at him, but she reasoned that she had been startled, confused, afraid, and angry all at the same time, leading to a rash reaction. Hopefully, Draco would understand.

Hermione slowly placed her hand on the wall and applied pressure. The wall very slowly creaked open, and Hermione winced at the echoing sound. The element of surprise was no longer on her side. Her cover blown, Hermione simply pushed the wall the rest of the way and ignored the heavy creaks that accompanied it, noting that the door was surprisingly easy to move. When the wall was just wide enough to enter, Hermione squeezed through and found herself in a tunnel, only big enough for her.

A single torch lit the stone walls around her, giving off an eerie glow in the already damp twilight. The tunnel only led one way: a downward slope that twisted off to the right. Steeling her nerves, Hermione swallowed hard and made her way down the tunnel, following the sharp twists and turns as she descended. The lower into the ground the tunnel wound, the darker it became, and Hermione wished she had taken the torch from the entrance. When the tunnel grew so dark that she could no longer see the ground in front of her, Hermione considered turning back.

A few steps more, and Hermione saw the literal light at the end of the tunnel. The shaft appeared to empty into a spacious room several yards ahead, and Hermione crossed the distance quickly, stepping into the cavern and covering her mouth in surprise.

The room was at least as large as the ballroom, if not larger. Its walls ran in a circular shape, dotted with candles and torches that lent a cozy, almost unearthly feel to the room. The ceiling stretched high, so high that Hermione had to crane her neck to see the hewn marks that scratched across the rock cavern ceiling. The entire room appeared to be man-made, with indents in the rock that could only have been carved by tools.

The contents of the room were just as surprising. An enormous mahogany table with intricately chiseled designs filled the center of the room, dominating the view with its sheer size. Around the table were several chairs and carts. Every surface that Hermione could see was covered in bottles, boxes, containers, pouches, and all sorts of equipment that made the table look like a mad scientist's lair. Books of all kinds were scattered throughout the clutter as well, and Hermione suddenly noticed the towering bookshelves on the opposite side of the room, packed with more books than Hermione could ever imagine reading or even collecting. A large black board hung on one wall, and several unfamiliar tools beside it. All in all, the room looked more like a laboratory than anything else.

Hermione simply stood for several more minutes, raking in as much information as she could gather just by standing in the doorway. The atmosphere of the room was not one of secrecy and oppression, as she might have guessed, but rather she felt welcomed, almost as if she were being invited to enter and explore. So she did just that, taking a few cautious steps into the laboratory before reaching out to brush her fingers along the edge of the table.

 _So I'm not imagining this place after all,_ Hermione thought.

Hermione walked the length of the table, examining everything she passed but not daring to touch anything. All the bottles and boxes were neatly labeled and seemed to be organized, though Hermione didn't understand the method. Everything seemed to be potions ingredients, but many of them were unfamiliar to Hermione. After rounding the far end of the table, Hermione noticed that one of the magnificent bookshelves housed nothing but jars and vials of all manner of potions, all labeled and organized like the ingredients.

Hermione shook her head in wonder. Had Draco done all this? If so, what was he planning to do with it all? Surely it had taken many years to collect so many potions. How could he possibly have gotten them in his cursed state? Had he… had he made them himself? It was impossible! _Then again,_ Hermione thought, _he's had five years of isolation to do anything he wanted to in here._ Still, Draco Malfoy was no potions master. Hermione remembered their days at Hogwarts, when Snape was always awarding points to Slytherin for Malfoy's work. Hermione had always assumed that Snape was just showing favoritism; could Malfoy really have been that good?

Hermione quickly scanned the titles on the rest of the bookshelves. Most of the books appeared to be books on potions, with a few spell books and instruction manuals thrown in, as well. Hermione approached the large black board hanging on the lefthand wall in wonder. An enormous tome lay open on a little bench near the board. Hermione's eyes widened when she saw that the book was a highly detailed guide to wandless magic.

It made sense. Draco didn't have a wand; he wanted to learn wandless magic. It didn't explain the potions, but Hermione already had a few ideas for that. She had been hoping that a trip to the basement would clear up some of her questions, but instead it had only raised more curiosity. At the thought, Hermione turned and looked around the rest of the room. She had been so wrapped up in her discoveries that she had completely forgotten about Draco.

Edging around the table and keeping her back to the bookcases, Hermione walked as quietly as possible. It was several moments before she saw a piece of furniture that she hadn't noticed before. It was a writing desk, carved as elegantly as the rest of the furniture in the room. More of the same kind of potions supplies were scattered across the desk, along with apers, pens, inkwells, and – to Hermione's surprise – the very map she had discovered.

There was a door in one wall, one that looked similar to the door to the tower's entrance. Hermione forced back a smile as she recalled Draco's reaction to her admitting she had been in the tower. _I'll bet that door leads straight to the tower,_ she thought. She had been close to the answer all along.

Still, the question remained: where was Draco? Hermione willed herself to walk away from the desk and examine the rest of the room. She could always come back when Draco wasn't there and explore further. For now, she had a million questions, and only one person could answer them. She found her answer when she rounded the corner of the desk.

Draco was lying on the floor behind the desk, white as death and surrounded by a pool of blood.

* * *

"No, just open the door. Merlin, it's not that difficult."

"I know, I know. Say, looks pretty clean."

Blaise and Theodore both stepped into the entry hall of Draco's home and shut the door behind them. "This place always gives me the shivers," Theodore remarked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say." He cleared his throat, then shouted as loudly as he could, "Malfoy! You've got company!"

Blaise's shout echoed through the stone walls of the house, but there was no reply. Theodore snickered. "Maybe he's asleep," he suggested.

"At five o'clock?" Blaise scoffed. "He's probably in the basement."

Theodore raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What makes you think that?"

"He always answers when we call, so he obviously didn't hear us."

"Again, maybe he's asleep," Theodore said. "You never know, him and Granger…"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Fine. Where do _you_ think they are?"

"Well… maybe they're up in the tower." Theodore's eyes took on a mischievous gleam. "Maybe they're having a wild –"

"I don't want to hear the end of that sentence," Blaise interrupted. "Go check the tower if you want to. I'm going to look in the basement."

"Tower leads to the basement anyway," Theodore pointed out. "I'll meet you down there."

"Fine."

Theodore smirked. "Just be warned; if I find Granger first, I may be a little late. That's okay, right?"

Blaise gave Theodore a look that silenced any further question about Granger, but he thought he heard a faint off-key humming coming from behind him as they trudged up the steps and entered the empty bedroom.

"Why do you ever question my logic, Theo?" Blaise asked, nudging Theodore with his elbow as he gestured toward the open door to the secret tunnel.

"Well, everybody has their off days," he muttered. Shouldering through the open door, Theodore shouted down into the tunnel, "Malfoy! You down there, mate?"

There was no answer for a moment, and Theodore gave Blaise a triumphant look.

"Well, come on," Blaise said. "We can at least take a look."

The two Slytherins carefully made their way down the tunnel, bickering back and forth and occasionally calling out to Draco. They entered the cavern without hesitation, and Blaise said, "Draco? Are you in here?"

Blaise suddenly felt a tug on his arm, and he turned to face a wide-eyed Theodore. Before he could speak, he noticed that Theodore was pointing to the right side of the cavern. One look at the situation told him everything he needed to know.

Blaise crossed the distance to the desk in three angry strides, and Granger watched him do it, backing up from where she had been kneeling next to Draco and raising her hands in defense when she saw the look on Blaise's face. "Zabini, I swear, I didn't do it."

Theodore placed a hand on Blaise's shoulder to hold him back, but Blaise's reply was no less infuriated. "You little fiend! You filthy, ungrateful Mudblood! How could you do it?"

Granger's face was determined and defiant. "I didn't do a thing to him, Zabini, and I certainly don't appreciate the Mudblood comment."

Blaise snarled at her, starting to pull his wand out. Granger suddenly shrank back, trying to shield herself with her arms. Blaise lowered his wand and ignored her, instead kneeling next to where Draco lay.

"Granger," Theodore said evenly, "if you didn't do this, who did?"

She slowly shook her head, obviously trying to formulate an answer that would make sense. "I… I don't know. I just came down and found him like this. I swear, I just found him…"

Theodore nodded, then knelt down next to Blaise. "Is he alive?"

"I think so," Blaise answered. "His pulse is weak, but he's still breathing."

"How does he look?"

"How does he look to you?" Blaise snapped. He sighed and forced himself to speak more calmly. "I don't know much about medicine. I don't know what's wrong with him or what to do."

Hermione stepped forward after a moment, nervously facing the two men. "Well, for starters, we can get him off the floor," she said as bravely as she could. "I can go upstairs and get his bed ready, if you'll bring him up."

"If you know that, what's he doing still on the floor?" Blaise asked her sharply.

Hermione glared back at him. "I only found him a few minutes ago, Zabini. I don't have any magic to levitate him with, and there's no chance I could get him upstairs alone."

Blaise started to retort, but Theodore interrupted him. "Good thing we came by then," he commented.

Hermione and Blaise were still glaring at each other. "I can think of a few thing I would have done," Blaise said icily. "And I can think of a few things I'd like to –"

"Blaise," Theodore interrupted again. "Deal with Malfoy now, Granger later, right? He's the one bleeding out on the floor."

Blaise sighed. "Yeah. Come on, Theo, help me out. You go get his bed ready," he barked at Hermione. She glared at him a moment more before jogging to the entrance of the cavern and out of sight.

Theodore pulled out his wand and quickly performed the levitating charm on Draco, with Blaise carefully keeping Draco's head aloft. They moved toward the entrance together and slowly made their way through the tunnel.

"This would be a lot easier if we could just Apparate," Theodore commented, receiving only a grunt from Blaise in reply. "The tower would have been an easier way to go."

Blaise shook his head. "Just as long both ways. This way has less stairs."

Theodore shrugged. "I guess that's why you're the brains."

The walk through the tunnel seemed to last an eternity, but they finally made it to the empty bedroom, where Hermione was anxiously standing in the doorway. She scurried out of their way as they brought Draco through, and she stayed at their heels as they carefully levitated Draco into his own bedroom and onto the bed.

"Go get a wet washcloth, Granger," Blaise ordered, not even looking at her.

Hermione eyed him steadily. "Get it yourself."

"Do what he says, Granger," Theodore recommended, but Hermione just shook her head.

"He doesn't need a washcloth," she said. "He's suffering from some kind of shock. If you'll pull his eyelids back, his pupils are dilated. That's a sure sign of shock."

"Oh, and what are you, a nurse? A healer?" Blaise scoffed, turning to face her.

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms. "No, it's just that most Muggles find it useful to know a little about first aid. I think you'll find it comes in handy during situations like this."

Blaise set his jaw. "All right, so why's he bleeding, Madam Healer? I don't think that's an effect of shock."

"No," she replied steadily. "Like a lot of shock victims, he bit his tongue when he hit the ground. Open his mouth. You'll see."

Blaise cast a suspicious glance at her and then Theodore, then turned to open Draco's mouth. Sure enough, the blood that had been coming from his mouth had saturated a white cloth wrapped around his tongue.

"What's that?" Blaise asked, pointing at the rag.

"Part of my shirt," Hermione answered, indicating a tear at the hem of her blouse. "I used it as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding."

"And when was that?"

"I finished it just before you two came down. He had lost a lot of blood already."

"But you –"

"Blaise," Theodore broke in. "Just leave it. She might have saved his life."

Blaise glared at him but didn't say any more.

Hermione eyed him a moment longer before speaking. "I don't know what caused the shock, though. I've been in the house with him the whole time, and I don't think anyone could get in. Even if they did, I would have heard the commotion."

"Has Draco been acting strange lately?" Blaise asked. "Has he acted suicidal or reckless or given any indication that he could be sick?"

Hermione shook her head. "I… I haven't seen him in a few days, so I don't know for sure, but last time I saw him, he was in normal condition."

Blaise narrowed his eyes to slits. "What do you mean, you haven't seen him in a few days? You live with him, Granger! How do you live with a person and not see them for a few days!"

Hermione bit her lip nervously, trying not to sound shaky. "Well… we had an argument. We had an argument, and I told him to leave me alone. I've been in my room for the last few days –"

"How many days?" Blaise demanded.

"Six days."

Blaise's mouth dropped open, and Theodore gawked at her. "Six days?" Theodore repeated. "It's been six days since you saw Draco?"

Hermione swallowed hard. "Yes, it's been six days."

"So Draco could have been lying in the basement for almost a week," Blaise ground out, "while you sat in your room with your nose in a book?"

Hermione frowned at him. "I had a right. It's not as if he runs my life."

"You're his slave!"

"Not by my own choice! I'm here because I have to be. Malfoy doesn't force me to do anything, and I still had the right to stay in my room if I wanted to. I came out by my own free will, and if I hadn't, who knows what might have happened?"

Theodore furrowed his eyebrows together in thought. "If you haven't seen him in six days, how do you know he hadn't been lying there the whole time?"

"I'd say it happened today. I thought I heard him moving around yesterday, and he probably would have been dead if he had been bleeding all night. My guess is that he wouldn't have lived much longer if I hadn't come down when I did."

"What do want, a thank you?" Blaise sneered.

Hermione glared at him. "A little more trust would be appreciated."

"Why should we trust you? Not only are you a Mudblood traitor, but you're the only person who could possibly have hurt Draco like this. Don't expect a thank you, Granger, because you're not getting one."

Theodore cleared his throat. "Blaise, calm down. There could always be another explanation."

Blaise set his jaw stubbornly, turning to stare at the wall. "I'm going to get him some water. I'll be right back."

Hermione and Theodore watched him go, then Theodore turned to face Hermione, a serious look on his face. "Granger," he said carefully, "did you do something to Draco?"

"No," Hermione replied firmly. "I told you before, Nott, I found him like that."

Theodore twisted his mouth to the side, then nodded. "All right. I'll believe you. I'll do what I can to convince Blaise, too."

Hermione nodded her thanks. "Could Voldemort have done this?"

Theodore raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "It was just a thought. Draco's Dark Mark was glowing when I first saw him, and his scars looked like they were about to pop off his face. It just looked like some sort of magical infirmity to me."

"It's an interesting thought," Theodore mused. "I doubt Voldemort is behind it, but you never know." Theodore's green eyes suddenly met Hermione's, and he spoke more softly, making Hermione lean in to listen. "Granger, how much do you know about Draco's curse and his life before it?"

Hermione looked down at the floor, not knowing how much she could say. "Well," she stammered, "I don't know much. Narcissa told me about the curse itself and how it works, and Draco has mentioned some things here and there. I didn't know anything about the curse until Narcissa bought me, so I don't know anything outside of what they've told me."

Theodore nodded thoughtfully. "So you don't know why Voldemort cursed him?"

Hermione swallowed again, trying to decide whether she could trust Theodore or not. "Well, I…"

She was saved by Blaise, who strode into the room with a glass of water in one hand and a washcloth in the other. "I may not know much about medicine, but I do know –" He stopped short as he noticed Theodore backing up from Hermione. "Theodore," he said, "I swear on Merlin's grave, if you were trying to seduce Granger right now –"

"Of course not," Theodore replied quickly. "I was just trying to get a little more information. Besides, I look for any opportunity to get close to Granger," he added with a wink at Hermione.

She merely rolled her eyes. "Forget about it, Nott."

Blaise set the glass and washcloth on the little table next to Draco's bed and turned to face Hermione. "Granger," he began, "what were you and Draco fighting about?"

Hermione felt her throat get tighter. It seemed that she was going to have to either trust them or make up a lie. Neither option was desirable. "I don't think it's any of your business," she said bluntly, earning a glare from Blaise and a smirk from Theodore. "Besides, it has nothing to do with any of this. The fight was six days ago, and you can ask Draco when he wakes up if you want to know so badly."

Blaise frowned. "You really are a persnickety little bint, aren't you?" He sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter, though. Theodore, why don't you go downstairs and see if you can find anything around the desk that might tell us what happened."

Theodore glanced at Hermione, then nodded and headed for the door. When he was gone, Hermione fixed her eyes on Blaise and asked, "What's the laboratory for?"

Blaise gave her an unreadable look. "What do you mean?"

"The basement. What does Draco do down there?"

"You mean, you don't know?" he asked, eyes wide.

Hermione shook her head. "It was the first time I've ever been down there."

Blaise leaned against the bedpost, giving Hermione a guarded yet curious stare. "Look, Granger, I don't know what in the world you and Draco do all day, but if he hasn't told you, there must be a reason."

Hermione shook her head. "He might have, but I got angry with him before he could explain."

"Explain what?" Blaise pressed. "Granger, you're leaving out a lot of this story. The more you tell me, the better we'll understand what's going on."

"I'm not telling you," she said stubbornly. "You don't need to know."

"Then you don't need to know about the laboratory!"

Hermione huffed an impatient sigh, crossing her arms and turning away from Blaise. He didn't say anything, just looked at her curiously. Though Hermione couldn't see him, she could imagine the wheels turning in his head. She could imagine that his unasked questions were burning him up inside as badly as hers were doing to her.

Finally, Blaise broke the silence. "Granger," he said calmly, all traces of his former anger gone. "Where did you come from?"

Hermione raised her eyes to watch him carefully. She had absolutely no reason to trust Blaise, especially after the way he had lashed out at her. He was a Ministry employee and a minion of Voldemort, making him and enemy to the Order and everything it stood for.

"Why should I tell you, Zabini?" Hermione queried, sounding more tired than angry.

Blaise shrugged. "There's a mole in the Ministry. It's thrown quite a scare into everyone. Seven years is long enough for the survivors of Voldemort's bloodbath to band together and start a rebellion. I don't know for sure, but I'd say you're a big part of that rebellion – if it exists. You're the last of the Golden Trio. You must know everything that goes on behind Voldemort's back." Blaise stood, slowly walking toward Hermione. When she didn't back away, he stopped and continued talking. "I don't know how you ended up in a slave market, Granger, but there's got to be a reason. You've been assumed dead for years, and as much as I'm dying to ask how you've made it this long, I know you won't tell me, so I won't ask. I'll just say this: if you really are part of a new Order and you really didn't try to kill Draco, then the four of us need to sit down and talk sometime. I think that could be an interesting evening."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Blaise's gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then he backed off and started tending to Draco. Hermione simply watched him.

* * *

"You don't really think Granger hurt Draco, do you?"

Theodore's question hung in the air for a moment as he and Blaise walked out of Draco's house and into the streets ahead. "No," Blaise replied. "I don't, but I don't want her to start thinking she can get away with anything, either. We've got to watch her. You never know what she might do."

"I think she's trustworthy," Theodore said with a shrug.

"Pretty doesn't always equal trustworthy," Blaise reminded him.

Theodore smiled. "I know. It's more than that, though. I think she really does care about Draco to a certain degree, and I don't think she'd hurt him unless he tried to hurt her. And I think we both know he didn't do that."

"Yeah. It still bothers me the way she skirted around talking about their fight. Something important happened, and I need to know what it was."

"Why?" Theodore asked.

"I don't know," Blaise shrugged. "It's just that Draco's our friend, and I wish he didn't have to fight all these battles alone. I wish we could help him somehow."

"He's got Granger now."

"Yeah," Blaise said. "I know. Still, I feel like a pretty sorry excuse for a friend."

"Then don't think about it," Theodore said cheerfully. "Anyway, what do you think caused the shock?"

Blaise shook his head. "I have no idea. It would have had to have been something major, and Granger honestly seemed not to know what had happened." He suddenly brightened, stopping and turning to look at Theodore. "You found something in the basement, didn't you?"

Theodore grinned. "You know me too well, Zabini."

"Well, what was it?"

"This." Theodore reached into a pocket of his robes and produced a paper, rolled up tightly. He handed it to Blaise, who carefully unrolled it.

"Theodore," Blaise said, "this is the floorplan of Draco's house. What's so important about that?"

Theodore pointed at a corner of the paper. "Touch that right there."

Blaise gave his friend a suspicious look, but did as he said. As soon as his fingers touched the paper, Blaise felt dizzy and noticed that the world around him was suddenly spinning. In a few seconds, he was standing in another place, staring at the burned remains of a once-beautiful mansion. Grimmauld Place, he realized.

In a few seconds, Blaise had Apparated back to where Theodore was standing, on the street in front of Draco's house.

"Well?" Theodore asked.

"Grimmauld Place," Blaise said. "It's a portkey to Grimmauld Place. Where Draco Malfoy was discovered having a secret meeting with someone believed to be a part of the new Order."

Theodore nodded. "Exactly, old buddy. And if my guess is correct, Grimmauld Place is where we might find our mole. And maybe the Order along with it."

* * *

Hermione sat in a chair next to Draco's bed, her elbow propped onto the table beside her and her head resting on her hand. Blaise and Theodore had finally left, and she felt mentally exhausted. Blaise had quizzed her for nearly an hour on any possible way that Draco could have been injured, but they had come up with no answers. After making sure Draco was stabilized and instructing Hermione on what to do in case of an emergency, Blaise and Theodore had gone home, leaving Hermione alone with Draco once again.

Hermione took the opportunity to study Draco's face as he slept. The terrible chalkiness that had permeated his scars earlier had faded, leaving them a dull white color. _Funny,_ Hermione thought. _I hardly even notice the scars anymore._ Narcissa had told her that she would get used to them, but Hermione hadn't believed her.

Sitting by Draco's bedside gave Hermione time to think about all the things Blaise and Theodore had said. She mulled over their words for nearly an hour before suddenly noticing that Draco's eyes were no longer closed.

She stood, moving to sit on the edge of Draco's bed and place her hand on his forehead. "How do you feel?" she asked quietly.

Draco merely stared at her, his milky eyes betraying his pain as he tried to speak. "Like I just woke up from the dead," he rasped, barely loud enough for her to hear.

"What happened?" she asked.

Draco shook his head slightly. "I don't know. One minute, I was standing by my desk, and the next I was falling. I could hear your voice. I heard other voices, too. Were Zabini and Nott here?"

Hermione nodded. "They left about an hour ago."

"Did they treat you all right?" Draco asked suddenly. "I know they're usually all right, but if I wasn't there –"

"It was fine," Hermione assured him. "It's a good thing they came by. I would never have gotten you up the stairs by myself."

Draco's eyes suddenly widened. "You mean… you've been in the basement?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to talk to you."

Draco swallowed, his eyes clouding with worry. "I didn't want you to come down there."

"Well, the fact is that I did. And I probably saved your life, so don't be so crabby about it."

Draco managed a small smile. "All right. What did you want to talk about?"

Hermione took a deep breath. Here it was. "Well…" She impulsively reached forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. "Malfoy – that it, Draco – I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for kicking you out like that and not listening to you. I was scared and angry and confused, and I didn't know what to think. And I just wanted you to know…" She cleared her throat and looked him straight in the eye. "I wanted you to know that I believe you, and I'm ready to listen to what you have to say."

* * *

A/N: Hello, dear readers! First of all, I'd like to apologize for the ridiculously longa bout of time it's taken to update. My internet went out, and I've been trying to get it fixed. I'm sorry you had to wait so long. I made this chapter a little longer to make up for it ;)

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I really enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for your sweet and encouraging comments! It means so much more than you'll ever know! It absolutely makes my day, and I constantly go back and read them. You are the very best!

Also, I'm going to see the Last Jedi in about thirty minutes, so whoopee! I'll see you all hopefully soon with a new chapter! Let me know what you think, and Merry Christmas!


	9. Chapter 8: Barely Even Friends

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 8: Barely Even Friends

Draco was silent for a long moment, regarding Hermione with curious eyes. She tried to ignore the lump growing in her throat and hoped Draco couldn't feel how sweaty her palms were getting. If he noticed, he didn't let on.

"What do you believe?" he finally asked.

"I believe what you told me six days ago when I woke up from the portkey fiasco. About your connection with the Order and betraying the Death Eaters and all that." She took a deep breath. "I don't have any clue how it's possible or why you would do it or why I never heard about it. I've got a million questions, but I just want you to know that I'll take what you said at face value and believe what you tell me."

Hermione expected Draco to give her a confused or even grateful look, but instead he narrowed his eyes and spoke suspiciously. "And why's that, Granger? You've been here for a couple of months, and not once have you showed a single bit of trust for me. What happened while I was out? Did Blaise or Theodore say something?"

Hermione shook her head. "They were tight-lipped as always. I've just… well, I've had six days to sit by myself and think about what you've said, and as strange as it is, I can't think of a single reason you might be lying to me. I've gone over everything you've said, everything your mother and your friends have said, even what I knew before I was brought here, and nothing actually contradicts your story. I'm willing to listen if you want to talk; you seemed pretty anxious to get it out earlier. If you don't want to talk or you need time to think, that's fine, too. I understand."

She started to move away, but Draco tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her back. His voice held a note of desperation as he said, "Are you joking?"

"No," she replied. "I'm through playing games."

Draco's eyes were wide in wonder, and he swallowed hard as he thought. Hermione turned her head to look at the floor, and Draco finally spoke. "All right, Granger. All right. I'll go out on a limb and trust you. I guess you've done the same for me." He let go of her hand and pushed himself into a sitting position, Hermione moving to sit back in her chair by his bedside.

"Seven years ago," Draco said, "I was one of Voldemort's best and most trusted Death Eaters. With Bellatrix dead and my father reduced to nothing but a drunk, I stepped up as the Black-Malfoy companion to Voldemort. It wasn't long before I became his right-hand man, even closer than Snape or Bellatrix had been. Voldemort trusted me with everything, and that's how I started to see through him. I'd had my doubts even before the Battle of Hogwarts, but I was too scared to betray Voldemort. When he won the war, I thought the safest thing to do would be to just play along and let him use me like a puppet. At least I'd stay alive that way.

"But it wasn't long after the War was over that I realized I couldn't live like that. Hermione, I can't tell you how horrible it was to have to execute my old classmates, to watch my teachers and friends and even enemies killed. I think it was McGonagall that broke me. I didn't kill her myself, but I was up on the platform when Voldemort performed the execution. She just kept looking at me with this disappointed but… almost determined expression, and that's when I knew I couldn't do it anymore. I went home that night and cried for hours. I even tried to commit suicide, but of course I couldn't."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, that's right. I haven't told you that part yet. I'll get to it." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, that was when I decided to do something about myself. I started trying to find out as much as I could about who all had been killed and who might be alive. I was surprised by how much of the Order hadn't been caught. Zacharias Smith was the only one I found for sure. Is that right?"

"And Alicia Spinnet," Hermione corrected him. "Lavender Brown. Colin Creevey. Fred, Ginny, Bill, Percy, and Charlie Weasley. Arthur and Molly. All the Hogwarts teachers except Sprout. Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and of course Harry and Ron."

Draco didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at his hands. "Merlin, I… I forgot how many it was."

"It could have been a lot more," Hermione said. "You'd be surprised how many are still alive."

"Right," he said. "Well, that's a lot more than I remembered, but it's still not nearly as many as I had feared it was. Once I – oh, I meant to ask you. Blaise asked you a few weeks ago, but how did your name get on the list of those killed? My mother told me when the news broke that you had been killed. How did that happen?"

"One of the survivors was out on a mission and found a Muggleborn girl who looked a little like me who was already dead. She just transfigured her features to look like mine, and whoever found her thought it was me. I've had it a lot easier since then, not having to worry about being recognized as much as the others. No one expects to see Hermione Granger walking the streets."

"Well, I nearly had a heart attack when Mum brought you home," Draco added. "I still can't believe she didn't recognize you."

"She had no reason to. Everyone thinks I'm Amelia Finberry."

Draco frowned. "While we're on the topic, who is Amelia Finberry anyway?"

"Some poor Muggleborn who's been on the run for a long time. She'll probably catch a break now that everyone thinks she's been captured."

"So, how did the mix-up happen?"

Hermione gave a half-laugh as she began her story, leaving out the names and locations of the Order, as well as Dennis Creevey. She still had her doubts about telling Draco everything at once. When she got to the part about Augustus Sparrow revealing her disguise only to mistake her for someone else, Draco laughed out loud.

"Old Sparrow never could do anything right," he managed. "It just figures that he'd find the Wizarding World's most wanted and think she was a common runaway!"

Hermione chuckled. "It is pretty ironic. And that's how it happened. Sparrow put me up for sale and your mother came by that afternoon and bought me."

Draco shook his head. "I still can't figure out why she was there in the first place. I mean, she had been here that morning and didn't say a thing about looking for a slave."

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "We ran into Nott's mother on the way from the market, and she's a right dragon."

"That she is," Draco agreed. "It's people like her that make me glad I'm stuck in this house."

Hermione managed a laugh at that. "Anyway, back to your story. You started looking for survivors?"

"Yeah," he said, picking up where he left off. "I went through all the Ministry's old lists of executions and prison inmates. When I realized how few of you had actually been caught or killed, I decided to try to figure out what had happened to all of you. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be, mainly because you're all so good at staying hidden. Once, I found a record that said Padma Patil was a slave, owned by somebody named Owens? Is that right?"

Hermione hesitated a moment, but pushed on anyway. "Cecil and Margaret Owens. A half-blood couple. I was on the mission that rescued her."

"I remember," Draco remarked. At Hermione's surprised look, he added, "I was there the night you rescued her. It was you, one of the Weasley twins, and Dean Thomas."

"How did you know it was us?" Hermione asked. "Why were you there at the same time we were? And how did we not know you were there?"

Draco gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, first, I was spying from pretty close range. I guess you don't know this, but once Potter was dead, I got his Invisibility Cloak."

"What?!"

"Yeah. Of course, I don't have it anymore, but I used it that night to get in unnoticed. I wasn't necessarily going to get Padma out that night, but I was definitely thinking about it and scouting out the manor for ideas. I knew the Owenses were out for the evening, so when I heard you all coming in, I watched you from the Invisibility Cloak and saw you first. I recognized Weasley and Thomas eventually, but I knew you right off. It took all I could do not to reveal myself."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Because I realized that my suspicions had been correct," he replied, his eyes blazing with new vigor as he recounted a story that had obviously changed his life. "When I saw you and Weasley and Thomas, I followed you to where Padma was, and I heard you tell her that you were from the Order and that you were there to rescue her. When you Apparated away, I didn't dare follow, but I had all I needed to know what I had to do. I started putting the pieces together from there: how Padma's records had just become available in the Ministry and how you had showed up at the same time that I did. I knew it couldn't be a coincidence, and that's when I realized there had to be a mole in the Ministry, some sort of Order spy that was tipping them off on how to find other Order members. I did some research and noticed that three other slaves and one political prisoner had 'escaped,' and that just confirmed it. The spy in the Ministry – it's Katie Bell, isn't it?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying not to sound too suspicious. "I… don't know that I should say."

"You don't have to," he said excitedly. "She did. When I realized she was the only one it could be, I confronted her about it and got the truth. That's how she hooked me up with Dennis and I –"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Hermione couldn't believe her ears. "Dennis?! As in, Dennis Creevey?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah, Dennis Creevey. He was my contact."

"You contact?" Hermione echoed. Was it even possible? Could fate really be this kind to her? "Draco," she said, forcing her voice to be steady, "where is Dennis now?"

His delighted expression fell, and he swallowed hard. "I have no idea. After I got caught having a meeting with him, he disappeared with the Invisibility Cloak, and I haven't heard from him since. I don't dare ask about him. If he's still out there, I don't want to endanger him by letting the world know he was my contact."

"I cannot believe this," Hermione said, jumping to her feet and beginning to pace the room in frantic excitement. "Dennis Creevey was your contact in trying to defeat Voldemort. He's the mysterious contact. He has the Invisibility Cloak. He's been part of the underground movement all along!"

Draco swung his feet off the bed and stood, coming to stand in front of Hermione. "Granger, what are you talking about? What's the connection?"

Hermione couldn't suppress a joyful laugh as she spoke. "We've always known there was an underground movement. We didn't know who was a part of it or what they were planning, but we've always hoped we could somehow locate them and join forces. If we could do that, the possibilities to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters once and for all would be limitless. But we had no idea Dennis was part of that movement!"

Draco gave her a puzzled but eager look. "Hermione… Dennis _leads_ that movement."

Hermione had nothing to say to that. Her eyes huge, she dropped back into her chair with her hands over her mouth. Draco knelt in front of the chair. "Hermione," he said earnestly, "what do you know about Dennis? What's going on?"

Hermione shook her head, unable to even think clearly as the implications of Draco's statement rang through her mind. Dennis Creevey was leading the underground movement.

Finally, she gathered her thoughts and words and managed to speak coherently. "I… finding Dennis has always been one of our top priorities. He was declared dead last year because of a lack of evidence that he was alive, but his name never appeared on any execution lists; besides, every now and then, some little shred of proof that he's alive will pop up. He's one of the last living Hogwarts students who hasn't been recruited for Voldemort and who hasn't joined the Order yet. We never knew why he didn't come to join us or even contact us, but now I get it. He's been working to help us, just in a different way. I can't believe this!" She turned her stare on Draco, who was watching her carefully. "He's the reason I'm here, Draco. I saw him in a slave market and went to find him. That's why I got caught; I've been looking for Dennis Creevey."

"Dennis in a slave market?" Draco repeated. "Has he been freed?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. I didn't even get a message to the Order before they took my wand. I have no clue what's happened since I've been gone."

Draco frowned. "If only there was some way to get in touch with them."

Hermione thought for a moment, then said cautiously, "What about Zabini and Nott?"

"What about them?"

"What if they could get a message to the Order?" she asked. "I hate the idea, but judging by some things they said earlier, I think they might be on our side."

"They are," Draco confirmed. "They never helped me and Dennis, but they never turned us in, either, even though they knew what we were doing. They've become disillusioned with Voldemort as much as I have, and I know they'd help us."

"So you think they're trustworthy?" Hermione ventured.

Draco shrugged. "Probably. They can be right gits, but they're like my brothers. The question is, do you trust them enough to tell them about the Order and its location?"

Hermione bit her lip nervously. "I don't know. It was just an idea. I'll have to think about it."

"All right," he replied.

She took a deep breath and gave Draco a small smile. "So, Katie Bell?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, as if he had forgotten about telling his story. "Katie and Dennis and I worked together for a while before Katie decided it would be best if we broke off contact from her. We knew she was in touch with the Order, but she wouldn't give us any details about it just in case something slipped out."

"Why didn't she tell us about you?" Hermione wondered out loud.

Draco shrugged dismissively. "I asked her not to. I didn't think it was a good idea for any more people than necessary to know. Considering what happened with the curse, it was probably for the best."

"Is that why you joined the underground movement instead of seeking out the Order?"

"No," he said. "I… I knew a Death Eater and former classmate would never be accepted into the Order, and I thought it would be easier to join Dennis' group. Even then, only two or three of them knew I was their contact, but I was just too afraid to risk it with the Order."

"I would say you should have come anyway," Hermione remarked, "but I understand your point of view. I might have been more understanding, but some of the others wouldn't have been."

Draco nodded. "If there was one person in the Order I would have trusted, it would have been you." Hermione seemed surprised by that answer, so Draco pushed on. "I was pretty upset when the news broke that you had been killed. I didn't think I'd ever hear that, and it was hard to take."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, so she simply changed the subject. "You said something earlier about using Portkeys to stay undetected."

Draco snapped out of his odd daze and began pacing in front of her. "Yeah. Dennis' people had some Portkeys, and he had me make one so I could stay undetected when I met Dennis. We decided on Grimmauld Place because it was abandoned and no one would suspect it as a meeting place. I used that corner of my floorplan as a Portkey and kept it hidden in my basement. I used that Portkey for nearly a year before I got caught."

"So how did that happen?"

Draco sighed and perched himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes boring into the floor as he recalled the memory. "It was in September. Dennis and I always met at eleven o'clock in the backyard of Grimmauld Place. I would give him updates on the Ministry and how he could rescue more people, and he would bring me the potions ingredients I needed."

"Potions ingredients?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you about that," he said, smiling to himself. "I'm a potions maker now. That's what's in the basement. The underground uses potions for most everything they do, and I supply them with it."

"How can you do that if you're trapped here and they can't come in?"

"Simple," he grinned. "I realized early on that even though people can't go in and out, objects can. I just package the potions up and lower them from the tower upstairs. Whoever comes to collect the potions uses _Accio_ to get them. It's nice to be able to still help them."

"Does your mother know about this?" Hermione asked. "Is she helping you?"

Draco shook his head. "No. She knew a little about what I was doing before the curse, but I didn't dare get her involved. She has no idea that I'm still in contact with anyone, mainly for her own protection. If I ever get found out, I don't want her affected."

Hermione nodded. "Anyway, sorry I keep interrupting."

"No, no, they're good questions," Draco said quickly. "Anyway, that night, Dennis and I met at our usual time and traded information and potions. It was a freak thing, really. A Death Eater and his mistress met up there for a secret rendezvous and saw me and Dennis. Of course, he recognized me right away and petrified me. But he didn't get Dennis, thank God. I managed to toss him the Invisibility Cloak before he Apparated away."

"He didn't stay to help you?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"He's the leader of an underground movement, Granger," Draco said. "He can't risk being caught, for everyone's sake. I wouldn't have expected him to stay."

"It still seems like he could have helped you somehow," she said, sounding put out.

Draco cracked a smile. "Feeling sorry for me now, eh, Granger?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just get on with the story, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged and looked at the floor. "There isn't much else to tell, really. I was turned in to Voldemort and sentenced to be trapped in this manor for as long as I live, with no magic and no contact with the outside world. Voldemort finally allowed my mum to come and visit me, and Blaise and Theodore have been coming for a little over a year now. I was really having a hard time before Mum started coming. Even though I was helping Dennis still, I was lonely and discouraged and even suicidal."

Hermione pressed her lips together in thought. "Draco, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. Why didn't Voldemort kill you? I mean, I'm glad he didn't, but he usually just annihilates his enemies as a show of power. Why trap you here alive? Why not kill you and make you an example?"

Draco's eyes darted around the room, and he suddenly looked nervous. His voice sounded weak when he said, "I, uh… I always kind of thought maybe he… wanted to drive me crazy. You know, trap me alone in my own home, turn it into a prison. What better way to get revenge on your enemy, right?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and stood, facing him squarely from his seat on the edge of the bed. "That's not true, is it? You don't want to tell me."

Draco started to say something in his defense, but he appeared to change his mind. He sighed and looked away from Hermione's intense gaze. "It's not something you need to know, Hermione. Just trust me, okay?"

Hermione eyed him a moment longer, trying to decide what to do. She was dying to know the answer, but he had already told her so much, and she would hate to end their first civil – even friendly – conversation in an argument.

"All right," she said in an even tone. "Another time, yeah?"

Draco looked up at her, obviously relieved. "Sure. Another time."

Hermione gave him a small smile as she moved away from the bed and toward the door. "Why don't you get some rest? I can make dinner and bring it up if you want."

"No, I'll come down," Draco said. "Thanks."

Hermione nodded. As she closed the door and headed down the stairs, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. Not only had she trusted him with Order secrets, but now she was making dinner for the two of them? They were going to eat together? She shook her head at herself. Merlin help her if anyone ever heard about this.

* * *

Cho Chang sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time. Setting her quill down, she rubbed her bleary eyes and leaned back in her chair, thoughts running through her tired mind like so many freight trains.

She had been so sure that Katie Bell was talking about Luna's house. 'Rook' wasn't a particularly common word, and for Katie to use it in such a confident way, as if she knew someone in the Order would know what she meant, had convinced Cho that they had finally made progress.

But nothing had happened. Neville had sent Cho, Luna, Michael Corner, Romilda Vane, and Nigel Wolpert to the old Lovegood house, and they had waited for nearly eight hours in the freezing November night until Neville told them to come back to the Fortress. Cho couldn't ever remember being so disappointed.

Quiet footsteps on the stairs leading to Cho's attic made her sit up and look toward the attic door. She did most of her work up there, as it was quiet and she was rarely disturbed. She couldn't help but smile when she saw a wild nest of red hair, followed by a freckled face and a mischievous smile.

"Burning the midnight oil again, eh, Chang?" George asked, walking toward Cho's desk and pulling up a dusty old chair to sit next to her. "Or are you writing love letters to some old wizard?"

Cho rolled her eyes and pushed her chair away from the desk. "Just reading through Katie's old messages. It just doesn't make sense. The message she sent us Monday matches all the old ones perfectly. I just can't understand why she didn't show up."

George shrugged. "All kinds of things can happen. Maybe she was in danger of being caught if she left and didn't know she would be when she wrote that message."

"Still," Cho continued, "it's not like Katie to do something hasty. She's never asked us to meet her before, so I think she would have made doubly sure that she could come."

"Hmm," George replied. "What about that part about the subject? Do you think she's talking about Dennis or Hermione?"

"She doesn't know about Hermione," Cho explained. "I didn't dare send her a message for Hermione's safety. If she knows, it's because someone there has told her, and that would mean everyone knows where Hermione is. No, Dennis is the only one we've talked about in our letters, and I specifically asked her to look for Dennis in my last message. Katie was talking about Dennis. She obviously knows where he is but couldn't disclose it in the message."

"Smart," George remarked. Letting out a deep sigh, he leaned his head on his forearms on the top of the chair. He was quiet for several minutes, watching Cho shuffle through her old files, before he spoke. "Do you think she's still alive, Cho?"

Cho didn't have to ask who he meant. "I don't know, George. I hope so."

"Me, too."

They were both silent for a short time, but this time it was Cho who broke the silence. "What are _you_ doing up, George? It's after midnight."

Raising his eyes, George twisted his mouth to the side and shrugged. "I don't know. Couldn't sleep, I guess."

Cho nodded. "Maybe you should try again."

"Yeah." George sighed again and stood up, swinging the chair back to its original place. "Guess I just needed someone to talk to. It's lonely without Hermione around here."

Cho gave him a curious look. "George… are you in love with Hermione?"

George didn't answer for a long time, just stared straight ahead, looking into a place Cho couldn't see. "I don't know. I don't think so, but sometimes it's hard for me to tell. It's a confusing time."

Cho nodded again. "Yeah." A moment later, she said, "George? If Hermione ever comes back, and I think she will… you should tell her."

George regarded Cho a moment longer, lost in his thoughts. "Maybe I should," he said softly. "'Night, Cho."

"Goodnight, George." Cho watched him leave, then dropped her files into their drawer and blew out her candle. George was right. It was a confusing time. A confusing time, indeed.

* * *

"So where is the Order base anyway?"

Hermione paused a moment, setting the saltshaker down on the table at Draco's question. They were having dinner in the kitchen, a meal of canned soup and toasted bread between them. Their conversation so far had been genial and uneventful, and this was the first time either of them had brought up their earlier conversation. Taking a deep breath, Hermione decided to tell him. After all, what more damage could it do?

"Northern Ireland," Hermione said evenly. "Lee Jordan inherited a mansion there from his uncle, and that's where we are. We call it the Fortress."

"The Fortress," Draco repeated. "That's rather unclever, Granger. I'd have expected more from the brightest witch of her age."

"Well, don't look at me. I'm not the one who made it up."

Draco laughed, a genuine laugh, and Hermione found herself smiling as well. Who would have ever thought they could be friends?

Draco coughed as he took another bite of the soup. "What's in this, Granger? Are you trying to poison me?"

She snickered. "Don't ask me; it's from your cupboard."

"We can blame that on my mother, then," he said. "She brings food by once a month or so."

"You'd think a Malfoy would bring something a little less…" Hermione trailed off.

"Gruesome?" Draco suggested. "Unappetizing? Brain-melting?"

Hermione shook her head and laughed again. "Something like that."

"Yeah, you'd think so," he agreed. "But I get by on it. It's better than starving, by some margin."

Hermione was about to reply when the front door of the house slammed open, echoing through the stone walls and filling the rooms with a gust of cold wind. Draco jumped to his feet and signaled for Hermione to stay in the kitchen.

"Draco!" Hermione heard Narcissa shout.

"Mum, what's wrong?" came Draco's voice. Hermione stepped closer to the kitchen entrance so she could hear better.

"Voldemort has been critically wounded," Narcissa said, desperation tinging her voice. "Someone poisoned him this afternoon, and he's still suffering from the effects."

"Will he live?" Draco's voice sounded harsh.

"Yes, thank God. The healers have been working nonstop to get him stable. He's at St. Mungo's right now. I would have come sooner, but I was at the Ministry at the time, and no one was allowed to leave the building until a few minutes ago. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Draco said quietly. Hermione strained to hear his next words, but his voice was too hushed to make anything out.

A moment later, Narcissa, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, asked, "Where is she?"

Draco mumbled something that sounded like 'the kitchen,' and Hermione instinctively backed up when she heard Narcissa's heels sharply clacking across the entry hall floor. Narcissa strode into the kitchen a moment later, Draco only a few paces behind her.

"Amelia Finberry," the older woman stated. "Were you listening?"

Hermione raised her chin. "I heard."

Narcissa looked Hermione up and down, gauging her next words. Finally, she waved her hand dismissively. "Leave us, please. I have some serious matters that I would like to talk over with my son. Alone."

Hermione took the hint. Narcissa was being unusually condescending, but Hermione didn't let that bother her. Steeling her nerves, Hermione leaned down, picked up her bowl and water glass, and walked out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at Draco as she passed him. He didn't respond, just watched her go. A moment later, Hermione's bedroom door closed sharply. It didn't slam, but it definitely closed sharply.

* * *

It had been quite a day. Sitting alone in her bedroom and eating her soup gave Hermione time to process the day's events. Only that morning, she had been locked in that very room, determined to wait Draco out and hold her ground. Within six hours, she had come out of her room, found Draco's laboratory, saved his life, formed an unlikely truce with Zabini and Nott, and had dinner with Draco. Hermione briefly wondered if it were all a dream.

But she didn't let herself wonder too much. As thought-provoking as their odd little relationship was, Hermione moved on to more pressing matters, such as what it was that Draco wouldn't tell her. Yes, he had revealed most of his past and even been honest about his horrible deeds, but there was still one little piece, one missing link that threw everything just slightly off center, one little detail that would make everything fall into place if she could figure it out. And Hermione prided herself on figuring things out.

Tearing a blank sheet of paper out of the back of one of her spell books, Hermione set to work writing down everything she had learned so far. She wrote out a timeline based on information she had gleaned from Draco, Narcissa, and Blaise and Theodore, then created another smaller one that detailed Dennis' backstory. To her interest, everything fit perfectly with what she had known before her capture. If Draco was making this up, he had mastered the art of deception.

But Hermione no longer thought he was lying to her. Even if there were a few things he didn't want to tell her – things that involved suicide, Voldemort, and Draco's imprisonment – Hermione was confident that, with a little more time, she could crack the code and unravel the mystery. All she had to do was wait, and Hermione was a pro at waiting.

About an hour later, Hermione folded up her paper and tucked it in the back of the spell book for safekeeping. Setting her bowl and glass on her nightstand, Hermione was about to turn out the lamp and climb into bed when she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway toward her room.

A soft knock on the door, then a very quiet, "Hermione?"

"Yes?" she replied, not moving from her spot.

"I, uh… I'm sorry about Mum. She was just worried about me and wasn't thinking about what she said. I'm sorry she was so rude."

Hermione smiled to herself. "If that's the worst treatment I get here, I think I'll survive."

Draco was silent for several moments, and Hermione began to wonder if he had walked away. She was about to start for the door when he spoke again. "Did you want to talk any more?"

It was Hermione's turn to be quiet as she thought. Though she would have loved to find out more about Voldemort's situation, there wasn't any reason she couldn't ask those same questions tomorrow. Besides, she was bone-weary from all the stress and excitement. "No. Let's talk to tomorrow," she said simply.

Another short pause. "That's fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she called softly. Sleep came quickly to Hermione that night, and she was more than willing to fall asleep thinking about Draco and his strange secret.

* * *

A/N: Hello, my dear readers! I'm sorry it's been so long between updates, but between Christmas, New Year's, and ballet auditions I have had virtually no time to write! I've an uneventful few weeks coming up, so hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in a few updates in between school.

So… yeah, this was a big, big chapter. I hope it wasn't confusing or messy. Part of the reason it's taken me so long to get this one out is how important this chapter is to the story. I didn't want to rush it. I know there's a lot of talking and very little Dramione action, but this will probably be the last of the lengthy explanation chapters and we can get on to the fun stuff we're all here for ;)

As always, your reviews are appreciated more than you'll ever know, but just knowing you've read my story makes my day! I'd love your feedback and your ideas on where you think the story is heading. This has been such a fun story for me to write, and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. I love you all and will see you soon!


	10. Chapter 9: Unexpectedly

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 9: Unexpectedly

"Here, start on that window over there. And use the blue rag, not the one with holes."

"Yes, your highness," Draco muttered, picking up the cleaning rag that was lying at his feet.

Hermione gave him an annoyed look and put her hands on her hips. "Look, I've been doing this a lot longer than you have. I know all the tricks there are to cleaning, thanks to my mum. And I'm doing it so you won't have to live in squalor like the helpless baby you are."

Draco put up his hands defensively. "I didn't say a word!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to scrubbing the conservatory floor, hiding a smile as she did so. Nearly a month had gone by since she and Draco laid their cards on the table and told each other their secrets. They had been relatively undisturbed by Narcissa, Blaise, and Theodore, and, after three days of slight awkwardness, Hermione and Draco had gradually become more friendly – domestic, even. Since then, the two of them had built up something that was dangerously close to friendship, spending a fair amount of time together and regularly having civil conversations. While the whole situation still felt foreign to Hermione, she was beginning to settle into a new routine – one that involved Draco Malfoy's company.

"What's this in the corner?" Draco asked, gesturing with his rag to a blackened spot in the corner of the window he was currently polishing.

Hermione shrugged. "You're the one who's lived here for ten years. You tell me."

"Yes," he agreed, "but you're the one who's been cleaning for the last few months. You've been in here more recently. And I've been here for eight years, not ten."

"Do you expect me to catch every little speck?" Hermione retorted.

Draco shook his head, returning to his window and scrubbing harder at the spot. "Where did you find this cleaning stuff anyway?"

"The hall closet," she replied, brushing a few stray hairs away from her forehead. "There were quite a few helpful items in there."

"Odd that I've never seen them."

"Considering the state this house was in when I got here," Hermione teased, "I'd say it's not so odd."

Draco shrugged. He worked for several more minutes on the black spot, then finally stepped back, took his aim, and spat directly on it. Hermione looked up at the sound as Draco began attacking the spot with a purpose. Something in the spittle must have been a solvent, because after a few seconds of fierce polishing, the black spot on the window was gone. Draco eyed it proudly and turned to face Hermione, gesturing to his handiwork.

"How's that?" he asked with a triumphant smirk.

Hermione sat back on her heels, pretending to consider the window thoughtfully. "Well… it's not how I would have done it, but I suppose it's a means to an end."

Draco scoffed. "Right, Granger. You would have sat there and scrubbed for two hours before it came off. My way is much more effective."

"And nasty," she muttered.

"Yes. It's a skill I mastered in my third year here. I got so bored that I started learning how to spit with an aim."

"Why?" Hermione asked incredulously.

He grinned. "It passed the time. Besides, I would just imagine that I was spitting right in Voldemort's ugly eyes, and I never missed the mark."

"Fascinating," she remarked. "But tell me, what exactly did you aim for? Have I been scrubbing your saliva off everything in this house for three months?"

"That depends. What have you cleaned?"

"Everything."

"Then, yeah, you've probably got it all."

At his impish grin, Hermione smirked at him and threw a dry rag at him. It hit him squarely in the face.

"You're not the only one who's practiced throwing," she laughed.

Draco laughed with her and tossed the rag back, managing to land it on top of her head. She snatched it off and stared at him while he laughed even harder. "How – Malfoy, how did you do that?"

"Wandless magic," he admitted. "I picked it up after about two years in here. My mum sent me a book on it, and I've been working on it since then."

"I saw that book," Hermione replied. "When I went to the basement."

Draco nodded. "That's the one. It's not that hard if you don't have anything else to do. I don't use it much and I'm not very good, but sometimes it comes in handy if I need to move something. Or make something float," he added.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "A true master of the art." She set the rag next to her soap bucket and returned to scrubbing, and Draco turned back to his newly-clean window.

"Isn't this great," he remarked dryly. "With this window clean, I can see so much more. Just think, I would have lived my whole life without knowing about these thorny vines that look exactly like the ones on all my other windows."

Hermione snorted a laugh. His sarcasm was contagious. "You should write a letter to Voldemort thanking him for sending you to such a paradise."

"Yeah, 'wish you were here, Dark Lord of the Wizarding World,'" he said.

Hermione chuckled again. They worked for a bit longer, Hermione on the floor and Draco on the next window, before she stood and announced, "I'm going to go grab more water. The bucket's running low. I'll be right back."

"I can get it, if you'd like," Draco offered.

"Well, you can help me if you want to," she said. "It's pretty heavy when it's full, and my hands are already raw from all the scrubbing."

Hermione picked up the empty bucket and headed for the hallway, Draco right behind her. When they reached the loo, she started filling the bucket with water, and Draco leaned against the wall next to the door, looking down at the floor thoughtfully.

"Wanna know how many tiles there are on this floor, Granger?"

Hermione frowned and glanced at him behind her through the mirror. "What did you –"

"Fourteen."

"Okay –"

"And there's twenty-six on the floor in the dining room – "

"You've –"

"Nineteen in the kitchen –"

"Mal–"

"And sixteen in the loo upstairs," he finished proudly.

Hermione sighed. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Draco grinned, obviously enjoying himself. "If floor tiles impress you, you've got a problem."

"Considering you're the one who has all the floor tiles in his house memorized, I think you're the one with the problem."

"Don't judge me too early, Granger. Give it eight years, and you'll be counting the floor tiles, too."

He was teasing, but his words made Hermione inwardly wince. Eight years? Could she really have to wait eight years? Did she have a choice? Could she and Draco coexist for that long? It was a nightmare to think about never leaving, but maybe she should start considering the possibility.

As if sensing her thoughts, Draco quickly added, "But I'm sure you won't be here that long. The Order will figure a way out for you." He reached over and turned off the faucet, picking up the newly-full bucket and starting to lug it down the hallway back to the conservatory.

"And you," Hermione answered, following him. "If they can get me out, I'm sure they can get you out, too."

Draco rolled his eyes. "The Order doesn't want a Death Eater, Granger."

"How would you know?" she retorted. "I think they could get past it, especially after you tell them what you've told me. You'll be an invaluable source. Besides," she added, placing a gentle hand on his arm, "we believe in giving everyone a second chance."

"Even Death Eaters?" he asked sardonically.

"Who needs a second chance more?"

Draco regarded her for a moment, thinking over a possibility he had seemingly never thought of. "Whatever you say, Granger."

They reentered the conservatory and set the bucket in the center of the floor. Draco started to pick his wiping rag up again, but Hermione stopped him. "I've been scrubbing that floor for two hours, and three months before that. _You_ scrub the floor _. I'll_ wash the windows."

Draco smirked at her. "Like I said, whatever you say, Granger."

They swapped jobs, Hermione confiscating Draco's holey rags and Draco taking over the dreaded scrub brush. They chatted back and forth for a while, keeping their conversation light. After almost an hour, the water in the bucket finally needed another refill, and Draco stood to get it.

"Need any help?" Hermione asked over her shoulder.

"Nope," he said cheerfully. He was whistling quietly as he left the room in search of more water, and Hermione tried to hide a smile. He had been so sullen and moody when she first came, and the change in him since her arrival – no, since her decision to believe him – was not easily overlooked. He was happier than she had seen him since… ever, really. Even at Hogwarts, he had been pretentious, condescending, and downright mean, but now it was as though he were a totally different person. _I guess that proves a second chance can make all the difference,_ Hermione thought.

After five minutes had gone by without a sound from Draco, Hermione set her rag down and started toward the door. "Malfoy," she called softly. "Mal–"

They collided, her coming out the door just as he was coming in. Soapy water from the bucket sloshed out and soaked the front of Hermione's shirt and pants, as well as Draco's sleeves.

"Godric, Malfoy," she muttered. "Couldn't you at least have shouted 'fore'?"

"What?" he asked.

"Muggle expression," she explained dismissively. She pulled her shirt in front of her away from her body. "Well, looks like I'm in for a headcold."

Draco set the bucket on the floor and began shaking his sleeves to dry them, slinging even more water around the room. "Sorry, Granger. I guess I'm not used to coexisting yet."

Hermione sighed. "Well," she said, "it could be worse. I'll dry off quick enough."

"Go change clothes," Draco stated, as if it were an obvious conclusion.

Hermione gave him an unbelieving look. "Malfoy, has it escaped your notice that I have not once in my time here changed clothes?"

Draco studied her for a moment, taking in the burgundy shirt, faded blue jeans, and trainers that she had been wearing for almost three months. "I, um... I guess I hadn't thought about it," he admitted.

"Obviously," she said. "Don't worry about it. I'll dry off."

"It's December, Granger. It's freezing in here. If you walk around soaking wet, you'll get sick for sure."

Hermione sighed. "Did you miss my headcold comment?"

Draco wasn't listening. Instead, he was already starting to head down the hallway and toward the staircase. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" she asked, following him and hugging herself with her arms to stay warm.

"Upstairs," he said unnecessarily. They headed up the staircase and to the empty bedroom that held the entrance to the basement. "I think I might have something you can wear down there," he mused, pushing the secret wall open and gesturing for Hermione to go down the tunnel first. The trip down to the basement seemed shorter to Hermione than the first time she had walked it alone. She suddenly realized that it was the first time she had been to the basement since Draco had passed out down there. They reached the bottom of the tunnel and the entrance of the laboratory, and Draco headed toward a locked trunk in the corner of the room.

Hermione wandered around as he dug through the trunk, muttering to himself. She took advantage of her opportunity to study some of the labels on the potion ingredients on the large table. The potions displayed in Draco's books were some of the most advanced that Hermione had ever seen. "Is this really a dragon's heart?" she asked in amazement, picking up a jar filled with some sort of organ.

Draco stopped his rummaging and turned to look at the jar Hermione was holding. "Um... yeah, that's what Dennis said it was. I'm trying to make a potion that lets the user fly without the use of a broom or a wand."

"What?!" Hermione gasped at the casual way Draco had made his statement. "Is that even possible?"

"I don't know," he said absently. "That's what I'm trying to find out." He finally stood, holding a gray tunic and a black robe. "I'm not sure what these are doing down here, but it's all I can find that you might be able to wear. They're a little big, but you could probably alter them. Can you sew?"

"Not really," Hermione said. "I can try to do something with them, though." Draco nodded and handed the garments to her. "Thanks," she added.

"Don't mention it." He closed the trunk and started toward the entrance to the tunnel, the stopped and turned back toward the room. "Hang on, let me grab one of my books before we go back upstairs."

Hermione studied a few more bottles on the table thoughtfully as Draco strode to his desk, and she was surprised to see how neatly he had organized everything. Granted, it wasn't exactly the way she would have done it, but it was obvious that Draco had put a lot of time and work into his potion making.

Her musings were interrupted when Draco suddenly let out a frustrated cry, causing her to whip around in surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Draco whirled around to face her, looking very disturbed. "The map. The floorplan of the house. It's gone! Did you take it when you were down here that day?"

"Of course not!" she said. "I was too busy trying to save your life, if you'll recall!"

"Then Blaise and Theodore. Did they take it?" Draco was frantic, yanking open his desk drawers and shuffling through the stacks of paper on his desk.

"No, not that I know of," Hermione replied. "I wasn't with them the whole time and –" She stopped short, suddenly remembering something she had forgotten about in the frenzy of excitement. "Malfoy. Malfoy, they _were_ down here!" Draco turned to face her again, and she walked quickly to the desk to join him. "I remember now! We were all up in your room and were trying to figure out what had happened, and Zabini told Nott to go downstairs and check around your desk for any clues about what might have happened."

"And you didn't try to stop them?" Draco demanded.

"I didn't think about it! I mean, I remember seeing the map down there when I found you, but I didn't even think about it when Nott went down there."

Draco sighed in frustration, sitting on the edge of his desk and running one hand through his hair desperately. "Merlin's teeth. I've tried for so long to keep that map a secret, and now –"

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted out. "I didn't even think about it."

Draco shook his head. "Oh, it's not your fault. It's mine for being so careless."

Hermione frowned and looked at the floor, trying to think of something to say. "You said you trusted them, right? Zabini and Nott? That they're like your brothers?" Draco shrugged, and Hermione continued. "They won't turn us in. Surely they wouldn't do that now."

He nodded. "It's not them I'm worried about. If they were going to turn us in, they would have done it a long time ago. I just hope it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Dennis is the one who saved me. If anything happens to him –"

"Nothing will happen to Dennis," Hermione said firmly. "He's first on the Order's list of priorities."

Draco swallowed, then looked up at Hermione with a small smile. "Second, I'll bet," he said. "After you."

Hermione shook her head but couldn't keep from smiling in return. "Whatever you say, Malfoy."

After a moment, Draco stood, shaking his wet sleeves again. "Well, I guess there's no use in worrying about it now. I can talk to them about it next time they come. For now, let's go get changed and get back to work."

Hermione laughed. "Enjoying a bit of hard work?"

He smirked at her in return. "It keeps my mind off the rest of my crushing doom."

"Well, don't worry about the portkey," Hermione said. "Zabini and Nott probably haven't thought another thing about it."

* * *

Hermione was not often wrong, but she was very much wrong about Theodore Nott. He had spent the last month giving more thought than was probably healthy to the portkey, and he had reached no solid conclusions. The things Blaise had said about the mole in the Ministry had provoked Theodore into some serious thought. If there really was a leak, and Granger was playing a part in it, and it meant a link to Draco's underground group and what was left of the Order, then Theodore was positive the portkey he had found had something to do with all that.

Grimmauld Place. Theodore hadn't been there in years, and then only to look for clues on who Draco might have met eight years ago. It hardly seemed that long to Theodore, especially now that his interest in the place had been renewed. A portkey in one corner of an unassuming floorplan. Draco was smart, Theodore had realized, and he had almost pulled off whatever crazy scheme he had been involved in all those years ago.

And that was the main reason Theodore was where he was on this particular night. Squatted down behind a large stack of charred-black stone, he had been waiting for nearly four hours, waiting for night to fall as he searched for some sign. Theodore had spent the last twelve nights in the same place, determined that he would find what he was looking for. What exactly that was, Theodore wasn't sure of, but he knew he would know it when he saw it.

Shifting his weight, Theodore went over all the information he had in his head. _Draco Malfoy, right-hand man to Voldemort, was captured at Grimmauld Place on September 14, 1999, at 11:00 P.M. He was seen conversing with and giving a mysterious object to an unidentified person, who vanished as soon as Malfoy was petrified. Malfoy was taken to Voldemort's lair, then to his own home three days later, where he was sentenced to be trapped and cursed for the rest of his life for his treason. Searches for Malfoy's contact and any information about the secret meeting have proved unsuccessful._ That was part of an article in the Daily Prophet, an article that Theodore had memorized. Any hope of solving the mystery of Draco's past lay in that story.

Theodore had asked Draco once about his past with the underground movement, and he had been coldly rebuffed. Granted, it had been a pointed question that Theodore really had no right to ask, but it had stirred in him questions that demanded answers, as well as a desire to solve whatever mystery Draco had become embroiled in.

Almost nine years in a world ruled by Voldemort had left Theodore feeling empty, bitter, and ready for a change in the way things were run. He had always been one to go with the flow and keep his mouth shut, but after seeing hundreds of people he had known as a child brutally murdered or sold off as slaves, Theodore suddenly felt the need to be more than lukewarm. He knew Blaise felt the same way to a certain degree, but Theodore's convictions ran deeper. Solving the story behind Draco's mysterious circumstances would reinstate a sense of justice into the Wizarding World, as well as finally give Theodore an accomplishment to be proud of.

He stretched his neck to either side before resuming his stock-still position. Grimmauld Place wasn't an ideal spot to spend the night, but Theodore was determined. First Draco is captured here, he thought, then Granger shows up and a portkey to the same place appears. It was too much of a coincidence. The two events had to be connected, and probably to the Order and the underground, provided the two organizations were seperate. If he could prove that, then he could possibly work with Draco to help the movement against Voldemort and restore peace.

All Theodore needed was some good, solid evidence, and he was almost positive that he would find it in Grimmauld Place.

* * *

"You really don't have to help," Hermione remarked, her amusement showing through her voice. "I've done dishes by myself before, you know."

"I know," Draco shot back. "But I'm enjoying this strange feeling of being useful."

Hermione shook her head and returned to scrubbing the dried sauce off a plate. It had been four days since she had washed the dishes, and they had piled up more than she had realized. She was expecting it to take awhile, but what she wasn't expecting was Draco appearing by her side unannounced and drying every dish she washed by hand.

"Where did you get these dishes?" Hermione asked, running her fingertip along the scalloped edge of a saucer.

Draco studied the saucer thoughtfully. "I honestly don't remember. I think Mum gave them to me when I moved in here. She said I would appreciate it later on. I think she might have gotten them from a wizard in France."

"Huh," Hermione replied. "They're quite pretty. A little fancy for the kind of meals we eat, but still pretty."

"Listen, if we wait around for a gourmet meal to use these dishes, they'll collect dust in a cabinet for the rest of our lives. And, yeah, Mum's got good taste."

Hermione gave him a teasing smile. "So does your mum do everything for you?"

"Well," he stammered, "not everything. That is, she always let me do some things, but... well, I do everything on my own now!"

"Everything," Hermione mused. "Even washing your own dishes?"

"What?"

She set a still-damp bowl back in the sink and reached over to take the saucer and wash rag out of Draco's hands. "See," she pointed out. "You're just skimming over the top of the plate like this. If you do that, only the center of the plate gets dry, and the little indentions on the rim might still have water stuck inside, which could fade the paint." She demonstrated her described method, then handed the saucer and rag back to Draco, who had watched her intently.

"Like that?" he asked, doing exactly what Hermione had said not to do.

"No," she said, "like this." She reached over and took each of his hands in hers, using them like puppets to re-demonstrate her method. She dried the plate gently and began to pull away, her point made, but Draco held on a second longer than necessary. Even when she had returned to her bowl, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Like that?" he asked again, repeating his same mistake.

Hermione shook her head impatiently upon noticing. "No, Malfoy, that's not it."

"Well, maybe you should show me again."

Wiping her hands on her dry rag and heaving an exasperated sigh, Hermione started to reach for his hands again, but she suddenly saw the mischievous look he was giving her. "You cheat!" she said.

Draco laughed loudly, polishing the plate with perfect precision the way she had showed him the first time. "It's far too easy with you, Granger."

Hermione tried to glare at him, but she found herself laughing with him. They finished the dishes quickly and stacked them in the cabinet in a matter of minutes.

"I thought I might teach you some wandless magic," Draco said out of the blue as he shut the cabinet door. "That is, if you'd like."

Hermione regarded him for a moment. "Really? Why's that?"

He shrugged. "It's pretty easy to learn, and I'm sure you'd pick it up quickly. It's always useful around the house if you need it, and it could come in handy if you ever got in a bind."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I've never tried it, but I'd be willing to learn. When the Order comes for me, there's no telling how long it could be before I have my own wand back. I may not ever get the same one back, and I don't know how I'd get a new one."

"Right," Draco agreed. "I'm no master at it, but I can teach you what I know and we can learn the rest together."

"Together," Hermione repeated, gazing at the floor.

Draco was quiet for a few seconds, seeming to think over the significance of the word. Hermione wasn't sure he had ever used it about them, and it made her feel strange. Sure, they lived in a house together, but they weren't _together_. Even considering the possibility made her feel like a traitor to the Order somehow.

"I didn't mean it like that," Draco finally said softly. "We can wait on the wandless magic, if that's what you'd rather –"

"No, no," Hermione broke in. "I didn't mean it like that. It just... it's nothing. I'd like to learn. I really would." She tried to sound as sincere as she felt.

The doubtful look left Draco's face, replaced by a tentative smile. "All right. We can start tomorrow morning. In the basement?"

Hermione smiled in return. "Sounds good."

They stood in a silence that was only slightly awkward for a moment, then Hermione started to move toward the kitchen entrance. "Well," she said. "I think I'll turn in for the night."

Draco snapped out of his silence and nodded in return. "Yeah, me, too. 'Night."

"'Night, Malfoy."

Hermione climbed the stairs to her room slowly, walking to her bedroom and sitting on the edge of her bed in a daze. Draco Malfoy was going to teach her wandless magic. She mulled over the day's events in her head. Their little cleaning adventure earlier that afternoon, then the almost flirtatious way Draco had acted while they washed the dishes, puzzled Hermione. The same nervous, stomach-fluttering feeling washed over her.

Still, it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. She glanced down at her hands and noticed that they were trembling the slightest bit.

 _It's just the cold,_ she told herself. _It's not him. Just the cold_.

It didn't occur to Hermione that her bedroom wasn't the least bit cold that evening. She was too busy trying to convince herself otherwise.

* * *

A/N: At last, I have returned from beyond! I can't believe it's been three months since I posted. I've been so lazy about this chapter for some reason, and I'm really sorry it took me this long to get it out. Still, it was a fun chapter to write, and I hope you all enjoy it!

As usual, thank you to everyone who reads this story, especially to those who comment. I can't tell you how much it makes my day to read your kind and encouraging words. You give me what I need to be motivated to keep writing! Again, thank you all for reading, and I promise I'll be back soon with a new update. Hugs and kisses to you all!


	11. Chapter 10: A World of Difference

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 10: A World of Difference

"Hand up! A little more to the left. Don't look sideways. Always keep your mind focused on what you're doing. There, that's it. Good. Now up a little. That's good, Granger!"

Hermione let her hand drop and used the opposite one to wipe off the sweat that had formed on her brow. Draco's basement/laboratory was freezing cold in the December air, but Hermione had worked up a sweat with her intense concentration.

Draco had made good on his promise to teach her wandless magic. Though she had already known the basics, the previous week and a half had opened new worlds to her in the ways of magic. It seemed like years had gone by since she had done any magic, and though wandless magic was definitely harder and more stressful, it felt good to know she wouldn't be defenseless should the unthinkable happen and she be discovered. Granted, she would be no match for someone armed with a wand, but it certainly made her feel better.

Draco turned from his position in front of Hermione and stooped to pick up the chair she had just been lifting from four feet away. She was showing incredible progress already, having mastered in a week and a half things that had taken him a year to accomplish. _No wonder she was always top of her classes,_ he thought ruefully.

Taking his cue that they were stopping for a break, Hermione settled herself on a nearby chair and smoothed her hair back from her face. "So," she said, "I feel like I'm improving."

Draco set the chair upright and hid a small smile. "You're doing all right, I suppose." _Merlin forbid she get a big head on top of all that skill._

She made no effort to hide her own smile. "Just all right?"

He shrugged. "Let's not get carried away."

Hermione nodded, seemingly pacified with that answer. She looked around the room, though she had already done it a hundred times that day alone. The laboratory was a room she hadn't had much of a chance to explore, even since hers and Draco's lessons had begun. They had settled into a routine: lessons all morning, a quick lunch, then cleaning, potion-making, and anything else during the afternoons. It was frighteningly domestic, and Hermione was afraid she was getting used to it far too easily.

Still, what could she do? It wasn't as if attacking the vines was doing her any good, and contacting the Order was out of the question. She still hadn't made up her mind whether or not to try to get Blaise and Theodore in on helping her, but honestly it was her best idea yet, which was a sickening thought. It had been close to three months since her capture, and there was no sign that the Order had even been looking for her. Hermione guessed that they were probably looking for Dennis first, and while that's the way she would have wanted it, it still stung that she was stuck in a seemingly hopeless situation indefinitely.

"Suddenly develop an interest in Drought of the Living Death, Granger? It doesn't seem like something you'd want."

Draco was giving her a smirk, something he seemed to do more often now that they were getting comfortable with each other's presence. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just lost in thought, Malfoy," she quipped. "You should try it some time."

"I've had six years to wallow in thought," he replied. "I'd rather not get lost in my own head. It's a surprisingly dangerous place to get lost."

"Not so surprising, if you ask me," Hermione said. "But I'll withhold comment."

Draco nodded appreciatively. "Good. In that case, care to continue with our lesson?"

"More like viewing session," Hermione grumbled under her breath. Draco had an irksome habit of demonstrating a spell, then watching while she tried to imitate it, offering no advice or commentary. While she welcomed the silence, it would have been nice to know if she was doing things correctly. Draco's teaching methods were getting better, but not by much.

"Don't slander your mentor," Draco shot back. "Or I'll set you to work scrubbing every window on the third floor."

Hermione scoffed. "You'll just end up helping me – not that that hovel up there isn't a two-person job. And don't even get me started on the disaster that is this basement."

"It's my workspace," Draco protested. "I need to have everything laid out where I can see it."

"It's not so disorganized as it is dusty. Every time I wave my hand, I kick up a cloud of dust that could fell an elephant."

"Sure that's not just your own personal dust cloud, Granger?"

"If I have my own personal dust cloud, it's from living in this house for three months!"

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but he suddenly cocked his head to the side and looked at her strangely. "Three months?" he repeated. "I... didn't realize it had only been three months."

"Already feel like it's a lifetime of suffering my presence, Malfoy?" she teased.

He shook his head, still looking vaguely astonished. "I guess. I mean, it just feels like you've been here longer." Dropping his serious tone, he grinned wolfishly and added, "But you are pretty insufferable."

Hermione wiped the smug grin off his face with a cleaning rag, and the aid of a little wandless magic.

* * *

The conference room in the Fortress was bustling with Order members, all of them chattering and carrying on about subjects related and unrelated to the matter they were gathered about. The only one who wasn't participating in the clamor was Neville, who was alternating between scanning the words on a piece of parchment and scribbling on a paper next to his seat at the head of the conference table. He looked up briefly, then continued with his work.

"What's all this about?" Michael Corner asked Padma Patil. "Since when do we have meetings at eleven o'clock at night?"

Padma shrugged, glancing at Neville and then back to Michael. "Hanged if I know. I was on watch in the East Tower, and Luna said Neville wanted us all in here immediately. Sure hope nobody tries to get in while no one's guarding the place."

Michael nodded appreciatively. "And she didn't say what Neville wanted?"

"Not a word. Must be important though, to drag everyone away from their posts."

Michael didn't get a chance to respond, as Neville stood and said loudly, "If everybody'll take a seat, we'll get started."

The Order, some of them half-asleep, shuffled to take seats at the long meeting table, muttering softly among themselves. Once everyone had been seated and had quieted down, Neville cleared his throat and said, "Thanks for coming, guys. I know this is short notice and you all have things to do, but this is very important." He turned to face Cho Chang, who was seated to Neville's right. "Cho, you can tell it."

Cho's eyes were bright as she stood, a piece of blue paper in her hand, and she did little to mask the excitement in her voice. "I just got a message from Katie Bell," Cho announced, gesturing to the paper in her hand. "It's the first we've heard from her in nearly two months."

Above the muted din, Cho managed to hear Nigel shout, "What did she say?"

"She says, and I quote," Cho said as the Order quieted down once more, " _Couldn't meet at Rook. Unforeseen circumstances. Will meet at HW at 12. Important._ " When Cho finished reading the message, the Order was uncharacteristically quiet, each running over the message in their minds.

Finally, George broke the silence. "HW?"

Neville nodded. "Hogwarts. It was part of a code Katie and Cho used when they first started communicating."

"So Katie wants to meet at the Hogwarts ruins?" Dean asked. "Is that not dangerous? Seems to me that Hogwarts would be a place pretty closely watched by the Ministry."

Neville shook his head. "Fleur's been keeping an eye on it. She's been down there about five times, and every time it's deserted. I think after eight years, the Ministry has given up on trying to catch us there."

"And we're sure this is from Katie?" Seamus added. "I remember last time we got a message, we all went to Luna's old house and waited for eight hours in the freezing cold. Katie never showed up."

"This is Katie," Cho said, sounding a bit defensive. "She's the only one who would say 'HW' instead of Hogwarts."

Neville nodded in acquiescence. "We're pretty sure, Seamus. There's always the possibility that it's a fake, but there's really no way to tell."

"So, midnight?" George said. "Does that mean tonight?"

"I got this about seven o'clock," Cho replied. "She didn't specify any other day, so I'm sure she meant tonight."

"So that give us, what?" Angelina commented. "An hour?"

"Yeah." Neville's voice sounded grim. "That's why we're all here so late. I need to assemble a team to meet Katie."

"I'll go," George volunteered immediately.

Neville gave him a wary glance. "I don't know, George. You've been high on the Ministry's radar lately. It may not be wise to send you into an unknown situation."

"Neville," George said seriously, "I'm going crazy in here. I've been in the Fortress for months without leaving. I've got to get out of here and do something to be useful, or I'm going to bust! It's not even that dangerous of a mission."

"It's still uncertain," Angelina reminded him.

George looked at Neville, who shrugged. "If you're willing to take the chance, George, I won't stop you. Any more volunteers?"

Within minutes, a team of seven – consisting of Neville, Cho, George, Angelina, Dean, Seamus, and Nigel – had been assembled and was ready to go. Polyjuice Potion was precious, so they didn't bother to use it, but they wore cowls to shadow their faces and quickly came up with a plan in case they somehow got separated or something went wrong. At half-past eleven, the covert group set out, with promises to return by twelve-thirty.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Millicent Bulstrode said, giving a half-hearted wave as the rest of the Order watched Neville's group Apparate.

Luna placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Millicent," she said. "Maybe this will turn the tide somehow."

* * *

"I think we should move the desk so we can get into that corner to clean," Hermione stated, setting down her water bucket and pulling her rolled-up sleeves higher on her arms. "There's no telling what kind of creatures have bred in that dust-trap."

Draco strode over from where he had been polishing a set of potion vials and stood next to Hermione, giving her a skeptical eye. "I'm not moving the desk."

"Why not? It's –"

"If I move my desk," he explained petulantly, "I'm going to have to move everything in it, and it'll take me forever to get things back the way I like them."

Hermione turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest in her best Molly Weasley impression. "Do you mean to tell me that in all the time you've lived here, you haven't moved that desk from the corner?"

"Nope," he said proudly and not at all repentantly.

She glowered at him. "Then it needs cleaning worse than I thought. Move the desk, Malfoy."

He crossed his arms stubbornly, matching her posture as he shook his head. "No."

"Malfoy!"

"If you want to clean back there so badly," he countered, "you move it yourself."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look but didn't say anything. However, his smug smirk apparently gave her the gumption she needed. Hermione placed her hands on the sides of the desk and pulled as hard as she could, kicking a few pieces of balled-up parchment out of her way as she tugged furiously. When that didn't work, she moved to the right side of the desk and began pushing, the heavy desk not budging an inch. Draco had been smirking the whole time she struggled, but when she threw her shoulder against the desk and tried to push her feet off the wall in an attempt to move the desk even a fraction of an inch, he laughed out loud.

Hermione didn't respond, but she gave him a look that could halt a Centaur in its tracks. Draco stopped laughing but covered his mouth with his hand in case the urge arose again.

Hermione stopped her shoving for a moment and stood back, giving an impatient huff and putting her hands on her hips. She blew a strand of renegade hair back before suddenly brightening and giving Draco a triumphant look. Again, she said nothing, but Draco watched her with a more wary eye than before. Merlin knew she would probably use him as a lever if she had a mind to.

Instead, Hermione closed her eyes and stretched out her right hand toward the desk, her feet planted apart and her other hand clenched in a fist at her side. With her eyes shut and her attention diverted, Draco took a moment to study her face, something he had been wanting to do for a while now. A look of sheer determination and stubbornness twisted her mouth and made her eyes crinkle at the corners. The smattering of freckles that had once coated her nose and cheeks had all but faded, Draco suddenly noticed, and a long white scar stretched across the top of her forehead. Her face was lined from years of stress and worry, and even though it had only been seven years since she had been forced into hiding, Draco couldn't help but notice how much older she looked. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, his own age, but she looked like she could be at least ten years older. Hermione Granger wasn't as pretty as she used to be, he thought, but Draco had found that beauty meant less and less to him these days. After all, he had cracked all his own mirrors in anger at his horrifically scarred visage.

He pulled himself from his stare and concentrated on what in the world Hermione thought she was doing. If he were going to guess, he would say she was probably trying to use her wandless magic to move the desk. An absurd thought, really, since she had only begun learning –

But she was Hermione Granger. Therefore, the desk moved.

It was a slow process, and one that Hermione kept her eyes tightly squeezed shut for, but inch by grudging inch, the desk heaved its time-stuck legs and slid across the floor like a creaking four-legged swan.

Draco couldn't help himself. It was probably a cruel thing to do, but Draco Malfoy had spent years of his life alone and miserably lonely. Annoying Hermione with ridiculously childish thing to do, but it brought him some of the first genuine amusement he had had in years.

Swallowing a smirk, Draco stretched out his own hand and concentrated on the desk, applying just enough force with his mind to halt the progress Hermione had made on the stationary desk. He allowed himself a quick glance at her, and he nearly laughed out loud. Her face was scrunched up even tighter, her free hand's knuckles turning white from her struggle. Draco suddenly had to pay attention to what he was doing. She was a lot stronger than he thought she was.

They stood like that for nearly a minute, Hermione concentrating all her might on moving the desk and becoming more and more determined and frustrated the longer it wouldn't move, while Draco focused on pushing against Hermione's strength and anchoring the desk where it was. Finally, Hermione let out an irritated sigh and dropped her hand, opening her eyes to see Draco doing the same.

"Wh– you – Malfoy!" she spluttered, realizing why she hadn't been able to move the desk.

Draco laughed, and when he did, he found that he couldn't stop. He leaned on a nearby chair for support, collapsing into it as he roared in laughter. Hermione simply stared at him in disbelief and utter disgust, but after an extended period of laughter from her comrade, she finally joined in and began smiling at the joke.

"You think that's funny, do you, Malfoy?" she asked challengingly.

The resolute look on Hermione's face made Draco laugh all the harder. It had been so long since he had simply laughed, and he felt like his face might crack from not being used in such a way for so long.

However, Hermione didn't give him time to ponder his newfound amusement, for no sooner had Draco erupted in another set of snickers did she pounce on him. She was a surprisingly good tickler, immediately going for his ribs before moving to his elbows. He yelped when she leapt on him and promptly fell out of his chair onto the hardened stone floor, taking Hermione with him. Taking advantage of the situation, Hermione just kept on tickling him, and Draco found himself laughing involuntarily.

She stopped for a split second to catch her breath, but it was all Draco needed to gain the upper hand again. Her grabbed both her wrists in one of his hands and set to work tickling her sides, making her burst into half-screams half-crows of laughter. She fought him valiantly, begging him to stop, but he was relentless. Her piercing laughter echoed through the stone halls of the basement.

Then something snapped. There was no noticeable difference in their actions, but both Draco and Hermione stopped their playful struggle as if realizing for the first time how close they were. He had her pinned on the floor, one hand holding both her arms above her head. She stopped breathing all at once, and her face turned as white as a sheet.

Draco slowly released her wrists and offered his hand to pull her up, but she didn't take it, instead pushing herself into a sitting position in front of him. Neither said a word – neither knew what to say – but their gazes said all that needed to be said.

Draco cautiously reached out a hand to touch one of the wild curls that had sprung free from Hermione's ponytail, and she didn't stop him, following his hand with her eyes before returning to his stare. She leaned in a bit closer to him – almost imperceptibly, but not quite so. Draco found himself leaning in a bit as well, so close that he could count the fine eyelashes that framed her clear brown eyes. Hermione let her gaze wander down his face to his lips before flitting back up to his eyes. He leaned in a fraction of an inch closer.

"Oi, Malfoy! You've got company!"

It was Blaise's voice, coming from the upstairs bedroom.

"Leave it to Zabini and Nott to have perfect timing," Draco grumbled, pushing himself up and hauling Hermione up with him. "Where's my vial?"

"Malfoy! Where are you, mate?" Theodore's voice was even closer, probably already in the tunnel.

"Here," Draco said, shoving a cleaning rag into Hermione's hands. "Clean something."

Hermione gave him a scornful look. "What?"

"Just clean," he ordered, already searching for something to look busy with. Of all days for Blaise and Theodore to decide to make a sudden appearance, of course it would be the day Draco was having a _tickle fight_ with Hermione Granger. Not to mention whatever that was that had happened after.

Draco and Hermione managed to look relatively inconspicuous by the time Blaise and Theodore appeared in the doorway of the basement. Draco was pouring a violet liquid into a bottle he wasn't sure was made to hold violet liquid, and Hermione had her back to the door, furiously scrubbing at a black fungus on the wall.

"There you are!" Theodore exclaimed. "I don't know why we don't just come down here first thing when we can't find you."

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Draco growled at his friend. "Or waiting politely in the entry hall before barging in?"

"Sure," Theodore said cheerfully. "But what's the fun of that?"

Blaise nudged Draco with his elbow. "Besides, if we waited for you to happen upon us in the entry hall, I have no doubt we'd be up there all day. Maybe all night, too."

"Do you and Granger _live_ down here, Malfoy?" Theodore queried, casting a doubtful eye around the room.

"Does it look like we live down here, Nott?" Draco asked acidly.

Blaise shrugged. "You're down here every time we're here."

"Well, it's none of your business. Speaking of which, I do know something that _is_ your business."

Blaise raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Theodore said, "Yes?"

Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the laboratory table, facing Blaise and Theodore with a stony expression. "About my floorplan."

"Your what?"

"My floorplan," Draco said tightly. "The map of my house. Where is it?"

Blaise whistled in what must have supposed to have been an innocent gesture, but Theodore's mischievous grin canceled out any sympathy Blaise might have been looking for. "You calling us thieves, Malfoy? What makes you think we've got it?"

"Never mind," Draco snapped. "Just hand it over."

Theodore shrugged. "'Fraid I can't do that, mate. I don't have it."

"You don't have it with you, or you don't have it at all?"

"What's the difference?"

"There's a great deal of difference!" Draco exploded. "Give me my floorplan, Nott!"

Theodore cocked his head to the side and poked Blaise's shoulder. "Look at his face, Blaise. I'd say that map must be pretty important to old Draco here. What is it, yours and Granger's love journal?"

Draco scowled at that, and Blaise looked over his shoulder at Hermione, who had stopped her pretense of cleaning and was glaring at the two guests. "Hello to you, too, Granger," Blaise said softly. "Nice to see you in your natural habitat."

"And you in yours," she said dryly. "Caught in the midst of a lie and a theft."

Blaise glared at her, and Theodore laughed. "She's still got her Gryffindor spirit," he remarked with a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes and came to stand closer to the three Slytherins.

"Cut the small talk, you two," Draco said. "I know you've got my floorplan, and I want it back."

Theodore shrugged, but Blaise had the decency to look chastised. "Look, Draco, we didn't realize it meant so much, or we wouldn't have taken it."

"Oh, so you just go around stealing random objects from other people's houses?"

"Obviously not," Theodore stated. "But you're our friend."

Draco looked like he was about to give Theodore the fiercest tongue-lashing in the history of Malfoy tongue-lashings, but he bit the inside of his cheek and looked away for a second, regaining his composure. "Just bring me my floorplan."

Blaise started to say something defensive, but Theodore just shrugged again and said, "Sure, mate. I'll bring it next time we come."

"And that will be when?"

"Tomorrow, if you can wait that long," Theodore said impishly. Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling but simply nodded.

There was a short silence, during which Draco glared at Theodore, then Blaise, then the opposite wall. Blaise stuck his hands in his pockets and stole a glance around the room, and Theodore eyed Hermione before his gaze fell on Draco. Or rather, Draco's neck.

"Hey, hey, now," he said, his eyes widening. Blaise turned to see what the fuss was about, and Draco self-consciously rubbed his neck, wondering what was going on. As soon as he touched his neck, he felt it – four long scratches, not bleeding but no doubt inflamed from Hermione's attempts to get away from their tickle fight. _Perfect,_ he thought. _Just perfect._

Blaise had caught on to Theodore's meaning by this point, and both of them smirked at Draco. "I guess she likes it rough then, eh, Malfoy?" Blaise asked. "Or does she just get it that way whether she likes it or not?"

Draco wasn't sure what was worse: Blaise and Theodore getting the wrong idea about his and Granger's relationship, or them finding out that they had had a _tickle fight,_ of all things. Honestly, both were humiliating at this point, but he knew Hermione would probably kill him if he implied the former.

"Mind your own business, Zabini," he said irritably, pulling his collar higher as if covering the light scratches would make them invisible. Blaise and Theodore just smirked even more, and Draco heard Hermione give an impatient sigh behind him. "And the scratches happened to be an accident," he added for good measure.

Theodore burst out laughing at that, and Blaise just shook his head in amusement. "Yeah, that's believable."

Draco gave them both a half-hearted shove, trying to keep his face from turning any redder than it already was. "So was there a reason you two came by, or did you just come to heckle me?"

"I'm just here to see Granger," Theodore quipped, but Blaise elbowed him.

"We've got something we need to talk about," Blaise said more seriously. "Something's going on in the Ministry, and we think you might have some answers."

"Me?" Draco said incredulously. "I haven't been out of this house in six years. What makes you think I'd know anything about it?"

"We have our reasons," Blaise replied. "But it's probably best if she's not here for this."

He had gestured at Hermione, and Draco set his mouth in a firm line. "You're nervous around Granger, aren't you, Blaise? It's not like she can spill your secrets any more than I can."

"Then you can fill her in later, if you want," Blaise said. "But she's just a slave and a muggleborn at that, and this doesn't concern her yet."

"Yet?" Hermione asked.

"That's right. Draco?"

Draco hesitated, but Hermione made the decision for him. "I'll go. Three Slytherins at once is almost too much to bear, especially when they're as," she spared a glance at Draco, " _insufferable_ as you three."

Blaise and Theodore didn't miss the almost-unnoticeable smile Draco directed at the floor when Hermione spoke, nor did they miss the way Hermione's hand brushed Draco's as she passed, making an exit from the basement. Wisely, both men refrained from making comment, but Theodore raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"It's great to have a slave completely submitted, isn't it, Malfoy?" Theodore asked. "Or would you know?"

"Shut it," Draco snapped. "What's this about the Ministry?"

Theodore straightened. "Something's up, Draco. The air's different. There's rumors of a mole in the Ministry, and it's got everyone stirred up."

"Thicknesse is getting nervous," Blaise chimed in. "I was speaking with your mum the other day, and she says Thicknesse has put everyone in the Ministry under severe scrutiny. They can't leave their homes, send messages, or speak to anyone else without someone knowing. I wouldn't be surprised if Thicknesse cracks under the pressure and starts a bloodbath till he figures it out."

"Is Mum involved in any of this?" Draco demanded. "Because if she is, you two better make sure she's safe."

"Don't worry about her," Blaise assured him. "She's not a Ministry employee, so I doubt she's under any close surveillance. As the widow of Lucius Malfoy and the mother of you, she's probably watched a little more closely than some others, but I'd say she's safe for the time being."

Draco appeared to be relieved. "That's good news."

Theodore nodded seriously. "But that's not all, Draco. If there is a mole, their life is in serious danger. Whoever it is is probably trying to blend in as best they can, but my guess is that they'll make a break for it before Thicknesse can catch them."

"So?" Draco said casually. "In case you forgot, I'm stuck in here for the rest of my life. The mole is just going to have to do without me."

"We know that, mate," Blaise said. "But you know who it is, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence, and Draco eyed Blaise and Theodore steadily. So much was at stake.

"I know who it was," Draco finally said, sounding weary. "But that was six years ago. A lot could have happened since then, and it's not like I get daily updates from the underground movement."

"Is the underground movement connected to the Order?" Theodore asked suddenly.

Draco looked startled. "What makes you think the Order still exists?"

"Granger had to come from somewhere."

Busted. Draco fought the urge to wince. Granger was the link to every question Blaise and Theodore had, and Draco knew he had to be careful not to involve her. "How do you know she wasn't part of the underground?" he countered.

"We didn't," Blaise said, "until your face just gave it away five seconds ago."

Draco didn't fight the grimace this time. Some master of deception he had turned out to be. "Look, I can't tell you blokes anything, all right? It's just too dangerous. It's not that I don't trust you; it's just that so much is at stake, and if you were to be put under Veritaserum or Legilimency, you'd have no choice but to give up answers. Please understand. I just can't risk it."

Blaise and Theodore didn't look offended in the slightest. "Draco, I don't think you understand what we're saying," Blaise said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "We're ready to help. Theodore and I have been talking a lot for the past few months, and things are getting ready to change. We're going to have to pick a side eventually, and we've made our decision."

"We're gonna help you and the underground and the Order and Granger and whatever else there is," Theodore added triumphantly.

Draco couldn't believe his ears. After all this time, could he finally trust his deadly secrets to his best friends? He had been alone for so long, and now he suddenly had Granger as a confidante and his two best friends as allies. With two leading workers inside Voldemort's system on their side, the Order and the underground could collaborate and possibly win, provided they had the element of surprise.

"Are you serious?" Draco finally managed. "You're really completely against Voldemort now?"

"We have been for a long time, mate," Blaise said sincerely. "We're just finally ready to do something about it."

Draco could have cried right then and there with relief. But a Malfoy doesn't cry in front of anyone else, so he settled for pulling them both into an embrace and hoping they didn't notice the wet spots on their shoulders when he pulled away.

* * *

"Don't forget that floorplan," Draco repeated as he stood in the entry hall with Blaise and Theodore. "On my side or not, I want it back."

Theodore waved him off. "Don't get your head in a twist, Malfoy. The precious pearl will be here tomorrow as planned."

"You just see that you don't forget it," Draco added, trying to look threatening.

Blaise laughed. "Don't you worry about that floorplan. Just make sure Granger doesn't claw you again."

Draco's face turned red as both his friends started laughing again, and he self-consciously tugged at his collar again. "I told you, it was an accident."

"Oh, we believe you," Theodore said, nodding his head in a mockingly sympathetic fashion. "We believe you."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco said. "Just go on."

Blaise and Theodore started for the door, still snickering to themselves. As they opened the door and stepped through the temporarily-opened vines, Theodore turned back and called, "As always, it was wonderful to see you, Granger!"

Hermione's voice echoed through the living room to the entry hall. "The pleasure was all yours, Nott!"

Draco shook his head as the vines closed behind his friends, just barely catching Theodore's muffled, "I love that girl." For a moment, Draco stared at the vines obstructing any view or passage through the open door. No matter how many times someone entered or exited the house, Draco still felt a slight inkling of jealousy. They were free to go in and out as they pleased, while he was a prisoner. Six years later, it hadn't gotten much easier.

Draco shook his head to clear away any envy or self-pity he might have. A much more important matter was at hand: Blaise and Theodore were finally committed. He had suspected that they would make a choice soon, but to spring it on him so suddenly and definitively was almost too much. A small victory had already been won.

Hermione interrupted his internal rejoicing by walking into the entry hall. She was holding a spellbook, which she had apparently been reading in the living room. "I thought they'd never leave," she said. "What in Merlin's name did you talk about for so long?"

Draco, still facing the closed door, bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting out in triumph. He turned to face her, a smile trying to break across his lips. Hermione cocked her head to the side at the look on his face, obviously puzzled but amused. "What's got you so happy?" she asked curiously, a smile crossing her face as well.

Draco turned his gaze to the floor, trying to contain his excitement. "We've made a breakthrough," he practically laughed. "Blaise and Theodore are on our side!"

His joyful laughter was countered by her look of continued puzzlement. "On our side? What does that mean?"

Draco took a step toward her, getting more excited the longer he thought about it. "For years now, Blaise and Theodore have been torn between their allegiance to the Ministry and their desire to do what's right. They've never turned in me or anyone I've worked with, but they've never actually opposed the Ministry either. They finally made their decision, though." He gestured wildly, trying to convey the importance of the moment to Hermione. "Don't you understand? They can help us! We don't have to hide everything from them anymore. I can finally trust them again. They can help Dennis and the Order and set things right again!"

Hermione finally seemed to grasp what Draco was saying, as her expression turned to one of excitement as well. "Draco, that's wonderful!"

He took another step and took both of her hands in his, and she didn't pull away. "Hermione, I think you were a big part of it. If you hadn't come here and given them the idea that there was still hope, they wouldn't have made the decision. I know it's terrible that you have to live here and be a slave and all that, but…"

"The greater good," she finished for him. "I can bear a little suffering if it means victory for the Order."

"They can help us," Draco said again, looking into her eyes earnestly. "They're coming by tomorrow with the floorplan, and then we can start working out a plan to get in contact with the Order."

"Oh, Draco, this is so wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, letting go of his hands and throwing her arms around his neck. Forgetting any awkwardness, Draco put his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor, and spun them in a circle, both laughing like children at their newfound victory. After a moment, he set her down, and Hermione pulled back, resting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a serious look.

"I owe this to you, you know," Hermione stated. "The Order has been trying to make progress like this for years, but only now that you've been helping has it started coming together."

Draco gave her a gentle smile. "I guess that's just proof that I should have joined up with the Order years ago, huh?"

Hermione smiled in return, and they found themselves back in the moment they had been close to in the basement before being interrupted. Draco tilted his head to the side and started to pull her in closer. Hermione stood up a little taller and let her gaze fall to his lips. They were so close…

It must have been a night for visitors, for no sooner had Draco's nose begun to brush against Hermione's cheek when the door was flung open, revealing a startled Narcissa Malfoy. She gave them both a suspicious look, even though they had all but shoved each other away in shock. Hermione looked at the floor, distractedly fiddling with her shirt hem and her hair.

"Hi, Mum," Draco said casually. "We weren't expecting you."

"Obviously," Narcissa remarked. "I didn't realize you two had gotten so… friendly."

Draco spoke quickly. "We haven't. It wasn't what it looked like."

Narcissa raised a disbelieving eyebrow but said no more, instead gesturing to the bag she held in her right hand. "I know it's late, Draco, but I wanted to bring some food by, and Mrs. Nordley's visit ran a bit long."

"Thank Merlin," Draco quipped. "We were running low on canned mush."

Narcissa pursed her lips at him. "Canned food keeps best. Besides, I don't know how to cook, and I know you don't. However, in light of the recent development –" she inclined her head at Hermione – "I did bring something she can cook. Please take this into the kitchen, Amelia Finberry."

Hermione gritted her teeth but did as she was told, not wanting to risk a scene.

"You don't have to say the whole thing every time, Mum," Hermione heard Draco say as she entered the kitchen.

* * *

"I'm winning, you know," Blaise said. He and Theodore were standing out in front of the path leading up to Draco's house, having said hello to Narcissa on her way in.

Theodore feigned ignorance. "Winning what?"

"You know what. The bet. I said Granger would be admitting her feelings for Draco by Christmas, and you said she wouldn't. I'm winning."

"Are not," Theodore retorted. "There's no indication she's in love with Draco."

"No indication?" Blaise echoed incredulously. "I'd say there's every indication."

"But if she hasn't by now, then there's almost no chance she'll do it in time."

"It's still three weeks to Christmas. A lot can happen in three weeks."

"A lot can happen in three months, too, but it doesn't seem to have happened."

Blaise shook his head, looking off into the distance thoughtfully. "No, I predict that Granger will admit her feelings by Christmas, just like I said three months ago."

Theodore shrugged. "You never were much good at Divination, so I don't think my fifty Galleons and I have anything to worry about."

Blaise scoffed and changed the subject. "So what time do you want to get here tomorrow?"

"I get through at the Daily Prophet at five, so let's just meet here then."

"Fine," Blaise agreed. Then he seemed to have a sudden thought. "You do have the floorplan, don't you?"

"Of course I have the floorplan," Theodore said, sounding offended. "Do you really think I'm that irresponsible?"

Blaise gave him a baleful look. "This is coming from someone who threw dishes out the window rather than washing them."

"In my defense, I was sixteen years old."

"That's more against you than for you, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

"Nope," Theodore said cheerfully. "Where are you headed?"

Blaise sighed. "Home to bed, like any other sensible person after midnight. I suggest you do the same."

"I'm going to Grimmauld Place."

"Again?"

"Hey, it's my last night with the floorplan. I want to be responsible," he added with a smirk.

Blaise sighed again, louder and more exasperated this time. "You have the floorplan, don't you?"

Theodore grinned and pulled the object in question out of his pocket. "You know me too well."

Blaise just sighed for a third time and raised his eyes to the star-studded sky. "Merlin knows you better have it tomorrow, or Draco is going to kill you, and then me, and then you again."

"Have no fear," Theodore laughed, setting his finger just above the portkey on the map. "I've always come through. Why not now?"

"Because the stakes are higher," Blaise said, but Theodore didn't hear him. He was already gone.

* * *

Cho Chang shifted her position and sighed quietly. It was close to twelve thirty – half an hour after when Katie said she would be there. The seven Order members were strategically hidden throughout the ruins of Hogwarts, and Cho was already dreading what they would say if Katie didn't show up. Seamus in particular was disgruntled about their fruitless wait at the Rook house, and Cho knew that if this backfired too, Neville might not risk another stakeout.

Ten minutes later, Cho's fears were put to rest. In a swirl of color, a figure appeared in what used to be the courtyard of Hogwarts. Cho didn't dare rush out of her hiding place, but she tapped her fingers anxiously on the column she was standing behind.

"Hello?" the figure called out. "It's Katie. Are you here, Cho?"

Cho could have cried with relief, and all seven Order members came out of their hiding places at once, rushing up to meet their long-time contact.

"Katie!" George called back, and Katie Bell swirled around to wrap George in a hug. Her relief at being among Order members was apparent, and Cho couldn't help but laugh when Katie hugged her. Katie smiled and laughed quietly as each person gathered took a turn greeting her. Finally, Neville stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Katie. After all this time, I can't believe we're finally seeing you," he said appreciatively.

Cho nodded her agreement. "It feels like a lifetime since I've talked face to face with you, Katie!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to see you."

Katie gave Cho a small smile, but it held a distracted quality. She looked behind herself nervously, eyes darting around as if looking for a stalker. "It's wonderful to see all of you, too," she said, and her voice sounded hollow, weary, as if she were feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Cho put a sympathetic hand on Katie's shoulder, which the latter didn't seem to notice. "Neville, I don't have much time, so I need to say this quickly and get out of here."

Neville gave her a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

Katie sighed and glanced around again. "They're onto me – Thicknesse and all of them. The Ministry's practically been on lockdown since they caught on. I've been watched like a hawk since Monday, and I just barely got that note to you this evening without being caught."

"Katie, why didn't you tell us?" Angelina asked. "We could've helped you!"

"There's nothing you can do," Katie ground out, staring at the ground. "I know I have never asked you all to meet me in person since all this has happened, but I really needed to talk to you in person... before I leave."

Everyone stood in stunned silence for a moment. "Leave?" Dean echoed quietly.

"Leave what? And to where?" Seamus asked.

Katie's lips quivered slightly, and her voice shook as she responded. "I'm leaving the Ministry while I still can. It's only a matter of days – maybe hours – before they figure out that it's me. When they see I've gone, they'll know for sure, but I'll be long gone by then." Katie was trembling now, close to tears. "I'm going to live as a muggle, and hopefully they won't be able to find me."

Neville stared at Katie incredulously for a moment. "But, Katie, you've kept up the act this long. Why not let this blow over and keep going? We'll be lost without someone on the inside."

Katie shook her head, seeming to gain her composure. "It's too late for that. I've already left now, and I can't go back. There's even the chance I'm being followed here, considering how closely I've been watched. I can't let someone else take the blame on the off-chance they don't realize it was me, and I can't risk being caught and giving away information about you all. And you'll be fine without me," she added. "I can only do so much without giving myself away. You'll probably have even more flexibilty, actually."

"But where will you go?" George asked. "If you're on the Ministry's radar, there's a pretty low chance that they won't locate you sooner or later."

"You've managed pretty well," Katie smiled, and George shrugged in reply.

"Katie," Neville said seriously, "we don't want to lose touch with you. You've helped us all these years; let us help you. Michael Corner is in charge of relocating people into spots where the Ministry can't find them. He can help you get to a safe place."

"No, Neville," she replied. "The fewer people that know where I am, the safer we all are. I know the Ministry's weaknesses as well as anyone. I can get to safety. Thanks, though."

"Will we ever see you again?" Cho asked, feeling a wave of sorrow wash over her at the thought of losing another friend.

"Of course you will," Katie said reassuringly, wiping at her damp eyes. "When this is all over, I'll come back, and we can catch up. I have so much to tell you, Cho," she smiled. Cho nodded, blinking back tears of her own.

"Now, down to business," Katie said, her entire demeanor changing to one of professionalism. Cho guessed that this was her 'Ministry Personality'. "I'm going to say this quickly and then get out, so listen carefully." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to Neville. "I found Dennis. He was bought from Augustus Sparrow's slave shop by a member of the Goyle family. Felix Goyle is his name. His address and directions to his house, as well as a list of precautions to take, are on that paper. Be careful; his home is in the heart of Ministry territory, so I'd use Polyjuice if I were you."

"Got it," Neville said firmly.

"Good. Now, I've managed to unearth a few pieces of information while looking for Dennis." Katie's eyes grew bright, and she started talking faster in her excitement. "Neville, I can't tell you much in case anyone's listening, but you need to find Dennis. It's more important than we ever imagined. Finding him could be the turning point in this war."

"What do you mean by that?" Nigel asked.

Katie shook her head, looking flustered. "I'm afraid to say more. Just... the underground movement. You get them on your side, and you've got a fighting chance. More than a fighting chance. Dennis can tell you a lot more, and he'll understand when you tell him what I've said. But you need him and his people on your side."

Dean Thomas was beginning to look confused. "His people?"

"I told you, I can't explain now." Katie looked over her shoulder again, growing visibly more nervous by the minute. "They could be here any minute."

"They?" Seamus demanded.

"Like I said, I'm being watched closely. Any strange behavior is immediately reported to Thicknesse, so I wouldn't be surprised if he comes down here himself when they realize I'm gone." She fixed her eyes on Neville. "Listen, there's –"

"What about Hermione?" George interrupted. "Is there any sign of her?"

Katie bit her lip and gave George an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, guys, but I've been so busy trying to track Dennis down and keep the Ministry from noticing, I haven't gotten much of a chance to look for Hermione."

"Don't you even have any ideas?" George pleaded.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I've done what I can." There was a sudden rustle from a bush nearby, and Katie jumped closer to the group. "I've got to get out of here," she whispered hoarsely. "They're coming, and they can't find us here."

Nigel opened his mouth to ask a question, but Katie cut him off. "Remember: find Dennis and get him to help you. To stay safe, everyone Apparate somewhere other than your hideout, then there. It's safer that way, and much harder for them to track you that way."

"They can track –?"

"They can do all sorts of things," Katie muttered, pulling her hood around her face and giving them all a sorrowful glance. "I'm sorry I can't do more, but I've done my best. I'm sorry I'm running away."

"Don't apologize for anything," Neville ordered. "You've gone above and beyond the call of duty. You just stay safe. If you ever need anything, contact us."

"I will," Katie said, then nodded, giving Cho a small smile before saying a simple, "Goodbye," and Apparating off to somewhere beyond.

The seven Order members probably would have stood in their spots a while longer, simply pondering Katie's words, but another bush rustled loudly. They collectively started, and Neville said in a low voice, "Everyone Apparate somewhere else, then back home again. We need those wards up quick."

The other six members nodded sharply, and each vanished in a cloud of motion and magic. Cho lingered just a moment longer, looking at the spot where Katie had disappeared before deciding on her next location – the place everything seemed to happen. Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Theodore stretched his arms above his head, sighing loudly for what seemed like the hundredth time. It had been almost an hour since he had used Draco's floorplan to get to Grimmauld Place, and he was already feeling tired. He knew he could always come back any time just by Apparating, but this would be his last night with the floorplan in tow, and that was his only alibi if someone were to find him skulking around there.

Theodore was halfway convinced to just come back another night, portkey or no, when a sound jolted him from his thoughts. Wide awake, he peeked his head around the corner and squinted, trying to make out what the source of the rushing noise was.

A glance west told Theodore everything he needed to know. Someone in a dark blue cloak had just Apparated into the space not ten feet away from his hiding spot. _How lucky can a guy get?_

The figure wobbled for a moment as they recovered from their Apparition, then slumped to the ground, covering their face with their hands and, though muffled, crying softly.

That action was quite unexpected to Theodore, who froze halfway through coming out from behind his favorite column. He tried not to breathe, so as not to alert the crying figure to his presence. From the sounds of the sobs, he guessed that it was a she, but he didn't recognize the cloak or the straight black hair that had fallen away from her hood. He stored the information away to ponder another time, choosing instead to focus on the moment.

The figure finally gave one last sob and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, raising her head to look straight ahead. The movement started Theodore, and he ducked behind the column abruptly. The girl noticed, and Theodore made a mental note to practice being sneaky.

She rose quickly, sniffling and pulling out her wand defensively. Theodore tried to think quickly. Apparating was too dangerous; if she was able to stop him, he could splinch. Fighting was risky, too, because all he really wanted was answers. If this girl could give him some friendly information, he didn't want to antagonize her.

His overthinking cost him. No sooner had Theodore decided to step out and declare his intentions did the girl jump out from the other side of the column. _Cho Chang!_ Theodore realized as he crashed to the ground, the latest subject of Cho's petrifying spell.

She gave him a scrutinizing glare, as if trying to remember who he was. Realization dawned across her face, and Theodore saw anger and resentment flash in her eyes. Of course she didn't know he was on her side. She still thought he was with the Ministry. For the first time in his life, Theodore suddenly wished that he wasn't a Slytherin.

Cho raised her wand, and from the hateful look she was giving him, it occurred to Theodore that he was probably about to die. If his mouth hadn't been frozen from her _Petrificus Totalus_ , he would have explained that he wanted to help her and her people, but he couldn't.

Cho glared fiercely at Theodore for several more moments, and Theodore could only helplessly look back at her from his spot on the ground. He wasn't sure how to project innocence with just his eyeballs, but he did his best.

It must have worked. Cho lowered her wand and softened her glare just a bit, glancing at the ground around Theodore. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she stooped to pick something up off the ground. When she straightened and began turning the paper over in her hands, Theodore's brain instantly began racing.

The floorplan.

Cho gave Theodore a curious look but didn't say anything. Flipping the paper over again, she raised her eyebrows and shoved the paper in her pocket, raising her wand at Theodore again.

Cho was smart. She backed up as far as she could go and still see him in the darkness, then raised her wand and removed the body-bind curse. Theodore's joints felt stiff and his legs wobbly, but he managed to get to his feet and feebly shout, "Wait!"

But she was already gone, Apparated off to somewhere Theodore had no way of finding out. Not only did she have the floorplan, but Theodore doubted that Cho Chang or anyone else from the Order would be back to Grimmauld Place after she encountered him there.

Draco was going to kill him.

* * *

"So what do you usually do for Christmas?"

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. It seemed that Hermione couldn't get through a single conversation without bringing up some sort of painful topic. They were sitting at the kitchen table, well past midnight, enjoying some of the first appetizing food they had had since Hermione had been there.

He tried not to sound too sardonic. "I don't really do anything."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. "Really?"

"Yeah. My family never celebrated it much other than a party for my parents and their friends. The first time I remember seeing a Christmas tree was at Hogwarts. Once I moved out on my own, there wasn't any real reason to celebrate any holidays. It got worse after the curse."

"Well, that ends this year," Hermione said boldly. "Christmas is one of the only celebrations we do in the Order, and it's my favorite time of year. I think you'll enjoy celebrating."

Draco rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin under his hands. "And how exactly do you plan to do that, Granger?" he asked. "In case you haven't noticed, we're still stuck in the house, and I don't exactly have an abundance of Christmas supplies laying around."

"Oh, that's all right," she smiled. "I can make do."

Draco shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "You do that. I'll stick to potions."

Hermione nodded absently and started picking up their plates and cups off the little table. "Malfoy?" she asked a moment later.

"Hmm."

"You are going to join the Order once we're free, aren't you?"

Draco groaned a little. "I thought we already had this conversation."

"Not this exact one," she replied, turning the water faucet on and rolling up her sleeves to start washing the dishes. Draco stood and rolled up his own sleeves to help her. "You said you'd do all you can to help us and that you'd get Dennis on our side, but you've never actually said if you're going to join the Order or not."

Draco sighed again and picked up a wash rag to wipe off a fork. "It's not that simple, Granger."

"What's not that simple?" she pressed. "Once the Order sees all you've done and they hear what I have to say about you, everything will be forgiven."

"Everything?" Draco repeated bitterly. "Even this?" He set down the fork and wash rag and twisted to face Hermione, turning the underside of his forearm up.

His Dark Mark. Hermione had all but forgotten about it, but she suspected that was an impossibility for Draco. The skin around the mark was scarred just like his face, and red veins stood out starkly from his pale skin, no doubt from being summoned and remaining bound to the house.

Hermione sighed, setting down the plate she had been drying. She gently took his hand in hers, trying to meet his gaze even though he refused to look at her.

"Draco," she said softly and without accusation. "Everyone in the Order has done terrible things for our cause. Neville killed an innocent man a few years ago because the man recognized him and Neville was on edge already. For months after that, he begged me to lead the Order because he said he wasn't fit to. Angelina was sent on a solo mission to get one of Pomfrey's grandchildren out of a slave market, but another slave was punished and killed after being blamed for the escape. That's haunted her ever since. I once burned down someone's house to keep them from looking at their records and figuring out who I was. If anyone in the Order refuses to forgive you, they're nothing but a hypocrite."

Draco scoffed a little, still looking at the floor. "Has anyone in the Order been in Voldemort's most-trusted group? Have any of them murdered innocent people just because of their blood status? Have they murdered their schoolmates? Their teachers? Are they haunted every day by eternal punishment for their mistakes?"

"Draco, please!" Hermione cried out. The pain in her voice made him stop what he was saying and bring his gaze to meet hers. A tear had begun to fall from the corner of one of her eyes. "Draco," she whispered, "your mistakes don't define you. You made the choice to turn your back on Voldemort. You risked your life for Dennis and the underground and the Order. If anything, this punishment is a symbol of your loyalty to the good, not a reminder of the dark side! Don't let your past stop you from your future!"

Draco shook his head, fighting back tears of his own. "I wish I could believe that."

"You can," she implored him. "You can."

They stood like that for a moment longer, Hermione pleading with her eyes and Draco looking for all the world like a hopeless prisoner. Hermione finally let go of his hand and returned to washing the next plate, discreetly wiping her eyes.

Draco tried to think of something else to say. "You know, even if the Order does win and they get you out, I still won't be able to join. I'll be stuck here. I mean, I can make potions for anyone who needs them, but I'm still bound to this house."

Hermione's voice sounded stronger now. "Draco, the minute Voldemort dies, you'll be free from your curse. At least, I assume that's how it works."

Draco sighed, contemplating the weight of his next sentence. "That may be so, but I'll never get the chance to find out."

"What do you mean?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Voldemort can't die unless I die."

Hermione felt a chill run through her bones. "What?"

Draco hesitated only a moment. "Because... I'm a Horcrux."

He said it casually, not even looking up from the knife he was polishing. Hermione felt her hands go numb, and she dropped her plate with a crash, sending pointed shards all over the kitchen floor. Her head felt like it was going to explode. She knew she must look foolish with her mouth hanging open, but she couldn't help it. _Draco Malfoy was a Horcrux._

He frowned, setting down his knife and reaching out to grip her forearm. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head wildly, trying to form a cohesive thought in the midst of the ones swirling through her brain. She reached for the counter to steady herself. "You're... you're... how can that be? Malfoy, how can that be!?"

Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, leaning one hand on the counter next to her. "Well, after Potter and Weasley and you destroyed his first seven Horcruxes, and then after Potter died, Voldemort knew he needed more. He created three more, which I managed to destroy before the curse. I don't know that he knows I'm the one who did it." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, when he cursed me to be trapped in this house for the rest of my life, he decided to make me his new Horcrux. As far as I know, I'm the only one. It seemed like a foolproof plan, really; no one is allowed in, I'm not allowed out, so the chances of my being harmed are practically none. As long as I'm imprisoned here, his life is safe. I'm technically immortal now, and so is he. That's the big secret I was waiting to tell you, Hermione. I just... I wasn't sure how to tell you."

Hermione appeared stunned out of her wits. It was several moments before she could find her voice. "So that's why you couldn't commit suicide."

"That's right. He's got some enchantment over me, because that was the first thing I tried to do when I woke up in here after the curse. The only way to kill a Horcux is with Basilisk venom, and that's not exactly in abundant supply."

"And that's why your mother rushed in here that day when I found you in the basement!" Hermione exclaimed. Everything was suddenly falling into place. "She heard that Voldemort had been wounded, and she knew you would have felt it!"

"Exactly," Draco said.

Hermione shook her head in wonderment. How had she not put it together? The clues had been right in front of her all along! However, her astonishment quickly gave way to dread once she really started thinking over Draco's words.

"Draco..." she said haltingly. "That means... that means you'll have to die if Voldemort is going to die."

"I already said that."

"But... if you can't commit suicide, someone will have to kill you."

"I know."

"And you can't leave the house..."

"...and you're the only one in here with me all the time," he finished. "You'll probably be the one to have to do it, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes widened at the thought, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress the sob that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat. "No, Draco... no, I couldn't! I could never kill you!"

"You could," he said calmly. "I've gotten used to the idea. You will, too."

"But... but I..."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You're strong enough to do it. I don't know exactly how we'll get it done, but we'll figure out something. I can probably get Blaise or Theodore to find some Basilisk venom, and we'll use that."

"Draco..." Hermione choked out. "Don't talk like this. I can't even stand the thought..."

She found that she couldn't finish. Feeling an overwhelming wave of emotion hit her, Hermione left Draco Malfoy standing at the kitchen sink and ranto her bedoom. Some time later, when her sobs had stopped and she was lying on her bed pondering the flood of information she had learned, she heard Draco enter his bedroom down the hall from hers. She wondered what he was thinking, if he was turning over the day's events in his mind. He probably wouldn't cry. He seemed too resigned to his fate to be upset about it.

Similarly, Hermione's crying had given way to a new emotion: resolve. "I'll find a way to save you, Draco Malfoy," she whispered into the darkness. "I'll find a way to save you if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

A/N: Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed this new chapter! I realize it's been a while since I updated, so I made this one extra-long and extra-juicy for you!

As always, your reviews are jewels in my treasure box of happiness, so bring 'em on! I love hearing your feedback and opinions, so tell me what you think of the story and where it's going! I love you all, and I'll see you soon with a new chapter!


	12. Chapter 11: The Gathering Storm

Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 11: The Gathering Storm

Diagon Alley was practically buzzing on Saturday morning, and Neville shouldered his way through the crowd, trying to look purposeful but not noteworthy. He was currently using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate a muggleborn man named Norville, which Neville probably would have found amusing had the situation been less stressful. Neville had approximately six hours left until the potion wore off, but he wasn't terribly worried about that.

Neville and four Order members – Penelope, Nigel, Padma, and Michael – had used five vials of the precious little Polyjuice Potion the Order possessed, and all five of them had deployed into various locations to hunt for clues. Penelope and Michael were currently scouting out the area around Felix Goyle's house per Katie's last instructions, and Padma and Nigel had taken the more dangerous job of obtaining a list of slave sales from the Ministry. Now that Dennis' location had been discovered, Neville wanted to give more attention to Hermione's situation, which he had regrettably been forced to neglect in the recent frenzy of excitement.

Neville was the only one out without a partner, and though Luna had offered to accompany him, he argued that someone needed to keep order within the Order (he had smiled at the pun); besides, they couldn't spare the Polyjuice. His job wasn't that difficult or dangerous anyway; going through slave markets and keeping his ears open for any informative news that might be flying around. Something definitely had stirred up the flood of wizards and witches in Diagon Alley, as nearly everyone was talking about the same topic of interest.

"Did you hear?" a middle-aged woman asked secretively. "The Ministry's gone into a panic over this whole scandal."

"Scandal?" another scoffed. "It's an embarrassment. The most powerful institution in the Wizarding World, and they can't even keep a handle on their staff. It's disgraceful, if you ask me."

Neville could only hide a smile as he pushed further into the crowd. Just outside of Borgin and Burkes, a bespectacled elderly wizard said to another, "I used to see that girl near every day. She always seemed so pleasant and collected. Never would have suspected. No, I surely never would have suspected."

The other man nodded in response but caught Neville standing close by and listening. He raised his eyebrows at his friend, and the two men walked away, leaving Neville to turn away and head in another direction. Everyone was suddenly suspicious of everyone, and Neville knew exactly why.

Katie Bell's defection the day before had caused an uproar in the wizarding community the likes of which hadn't been seen since Voldemort took control. Everyone's worldview had been flipped inside-out; a mole in the Ministry meant active enemies to the Ministry, and that set everyone on edge. Neville knew he needed to be careful listening to people's harried conversations, but he derived a certain amount of satisfaction knowing that the world now knew that the spark was not dead.

There was still hope. Neville could feel it pulsing everywhere he went; hope was at the heart of every conversation between every gossiping mother and drawling storekeeper. Even those who were involved in the Ministry and its derivatives were obviously excited by the news, and not just because it was unusual. A large number of people who claimed to be loyal to the Wizarding World's new government were secretly wishing for change, and it struck a chord of hope in Neville's heart. This is what the Order fought for. This is what they died for.

Neville cast a solemn smile at the ground. He wished he could talk to Hermione about it all. In the days before her disappearance, she had seemed so restless, so ready for a bit of news to light a spark of hope back into the Order's actions. Neville tried to imagine what she would be doing right now, with Katie's revelations and defection; she would be more excited than anyone, he thought sadly.

Not for the first time, Neville wondered where Hermione really was. Of course, everyone had theories – some thought she had been captured or killed, while others thought she could be hiding out and waiting to make a move. Neville was sure that she hadn't simply given up; Hermione was too dedicated for that. He wished so much that he could find her and tell her what she meant to the Order. Her statements in her last Order meeting echoed back in Neville's mind, when she had implied that she was the most expendable member. Neville thought about George Weasley, pacing the floors at all hours of the night while he worried about Hermione. Angelina Johnson was obviously racked with guilt over some of the things she had said to Hermione. Neville, too, felt guilty for taking Hermione for granted; Luna was a close confidante of his, but Hermione had been his right hand. He felt strange giving out orders without her there to back him up.

 _Hermione, wherever you are, we're not giving up on you_ , Neville thought. _I'm not giving up_.

Tightening his jaw with resolve, Neville straightened his shoulders and strode ahead into Diagon Alley.

* * *

 _Aim, push, release. Aim, push, release._

Over and over, Hermione kept the mantra going through her mind. She had taken to using wandless magic to do her cleaning, and she found that working distracted her from her intrusive thoughts. The scrub brush moved back and forth across the stone floor of the empty third floor room, the wandless magic saving her hands from the toll the brush normally took.

Draco Malfoy was a Horcrux. Two days later, the news was still almost too much for Hermione to process. When she wasn't aggressively blocking out her thoughts, she ran over and over her newfound information in her head, wondering how she hadn't guessed it in the first place. Now that she knew, it seemed to be the obvious answer to all her previously unanswered questions, but, then again, why would she have guessed something so horrendous?

A Horcrux. Hermione tried to think of everything she and Harry and Ron had learned about Horcruxes when they were searching for Voldemort's first set. Horcruxes were only created by a cold-blooded murder, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder who it was that died for Voldemort's immortality. Perhaps Lucius? Hermione hadn't heard anything about him since she arrived; maybe Draco's own father had paid the price for Voldemort's soul.

There were several ways to destroy a Horcrux, but Draco was right: Basilisk venom was the most logical solution to Draco's condition. The thought made Hermione want to vomit, but what other option did they have? If the Order was to prevail and right the wrongs done by Voldemort, the dark lord himself would have to die first, and Draco before him. And since practically no one had access to him but Hermione, she would indeed probably be the one to do it. It was a sickening thought.

So she tried not to think about it. _Aim, push, release. Aim, push, release_.

Wandless magic wasn't making her any calmer. In fact, it was only serving to irritate her anxieties more, since every swipe of the scrub brush made her remember all the time they had spent working together in the past months.

 _Why?_ Hermione thought, stopping the scrub brush's movements. _Why does everyone I love have to die?_

And there it was. Hermione had skimmed past the thought many times, trying to ignore it, but she didn't stop herself this time. Despite all odds, the stars in their courses and fate itself, she was in love with him. Against everything she had every known and felt, she had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, her sworn enemy.

And the worst part was that it had been so _easy_. A mere three months had passed since Hermione came to live in Draco's house, and it had taken him less time than that to break down every wall she had built, every misgiving she held toward him. Granted, it had been much easier after she discovered that he was fighting on her side, but she still had seen past him and everything he had always been, and she loved him. _How strange_ , she thought, _to be able to change one's mind so quickly about a person_.

She felt tears spring into her eyes but blinked them back. A vision of Harry and Ron, of the Order, of all the loved ones she had lost, appeared in her mind, and she wondered what they would say if they knew she had fallen in love with the enemy.

 _But he's not the enemy_ , she reminded herself. _He's on our side_. The thought gave her little comfort, though, for another quickly rose to take its place.

 _And now I have to let him go_.

* * *

Ernie MacMillan had not changed much in eight years, a fact that both surprised and delighted Penelope Clearwater when she saw him. He was sitting outside a small library, immersed in a book and oblivious to the world. Penelope did a double take when she saw him, but when Michael Corner confirmed her original thought, she could hardly contain her excitement. She hadn't seen Ernie since Voldemort took over, but he was well-known for his work at the Daily Prophet. Ernie, pure-blooded as he was, was not an open supporter of Voldemort, but he had never made an effort to oppose Voldemort or help the Order. Still, he could be a valuable ally if he were willing, and Penelope and Michael decided to take advantage of their happening upon him.

The two Ravenclaws carefully edged toward Ernie, who remained still as he read. When they got within speaking distance, Ernie briefly glanced up at them before returning to his book. However, he suspiciously raised his eyebrows at them when Penelope took a seat across from him.

"Hi there, mate. Didn't you used to go to Hogwarts?" she asked, trying to alter the sound of her voice to match her unfamiliar face.

Ernie gave her a puzzled look. "Didn't we all?" he countered.

Penelope shrugged, gesturing to Michael, who sat down at the table as well. "My friend and I just thought we recognized you," she remarked casually. "MacMillan, isn't it?"

Ernie relaxed a bit more but still looked suspicious. Penelope didn't blame him, not with the news about Katie Bell still flying about like mad. "That's right. Ernie MacMillan. And you?"

"Hezekiah Smith," Michael replied smoothly. "Ravenclaw. Ella and I didn't know you that well, but we thought we recognized you."

Ernie's brow furrowed at the names that Michael had made up on the spot. "Hezekiah Smith," he repeated, looking at Michael curiously. "I knew a Zacharias Smith, but he's been dead for years."

Michael shook his head but kept a disarming smile on his face. "Nah, no relation. You probably just don't remember us. It's fine; we were a couple of years ahead of you."

Ernie nodded slowly, still deep in thought. Penelope spoke up, "I used to see you a lot with the Abbott girl and that other boy. What was his name?" she asked Michael.

"Justin," Michael answered, keeping the charade going.

Ernie's eyes lit up when his two best friends' names were mentioned. "Yeah! Hannah and Justin. Merlin, it's been so long…" He trailed off, obviously remembering his days at Hogwarts.

Michael didn't waste any time. "What ever happened to those two?" he asked casually.

"Oh." Ernie's smile disappeared. "Well, Hannah's still around. She and I dated for a while, but that was a few years ago. She owns the Leaky Cauldron now, actually."

"And Justin?" Penelope pressed, trying not to let on how interested she was.

Ernie swallowed and cleared his throat. "Um… Justin died. Killed, actually. It wasn't long after the war ended. He was helping some… well, I don't know exactly what he was doing, just that he was killed by Death Eaters."

This, of course, was not news to Penelope or Michael, as Justin had been fighting for the Order when he was killed, but they feigned surprise and made sympathetic sounds at Ernie's statement.

"I'm sorry," Penelope said. "I had forgotten all about that."

Ernie shrugged, resuming his previously casual demeanor. "'S fine. It was a long time ago."

"I remember something about the… Order? Was that right?" Penelope directed her question at Michael, but she was hoping Ernie would answer.

He hesitated but answered anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Penelope pressed on. "Funny, isn't it? You'd never know about some of them. Justin never seemed the type to fight in a rebellion to me. Did he to you?"

"Did he what?"

"Seem the type to fight in a rebellion?" Penelope repeated. She knew she was pushing her limits, but time was of the essence and Ernie wasn't moving quickly enough.

Ernie's walls seemed to come back up, and he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. You never can tell about a person."

Michael tried to recover the relaxed atmosphere that had been lost. "Isn't that the truth. Did you hear about Katie Bell and the whole undercover bit in the Ministry?" Ernie didn't reply, so Michael continued. "Yeah, I must have seen Katie a million times at Hogwarts. Went out with her once. She always seemed so… unassuming, wouldn't you say so?"

"Definitely," Penelope replied.

Ernie eyed them both gingerly before nodding once. He was obviously getting suspicious, but Penelope didn't blame him; they were sounding like Ministry spies, and Ernie was too smart to be caught in a trap.

Michael didn't seem to be concerned about coming on too strongly now. "Who would have thought the Order still exists, eh?"

Ernie narrowed his eyes. "Who said the Order still exists?"

"Well, it seems pretty logical to me," Michael commented, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, Katie had to be spying on the Ministry for someone. She was always in tight with the Order and the D.A. Seems logical that she was working for the Order, doesn't it?"

"Well, I don't know…" Ernie mumbled.

Michael leaned forward suddenly. "Well, who else would she be working for?" Penelope put her hand on his arm, cautioning him to be careful, but Michael kept staring at Ernie intently.

Ernie wasn't having it. "What is this, an interrogation?" he demanded. "I don't ruddy know. What do you think I am, some kind of spy, too? You think I'm in on this?"

Penelope spoke gently, trying to calm Ernie down. "Of course not, Ernie. We were just wondering if you knew any more than we do. We've been away traveling for a while, and we aren't too caught up on what's been going on, that's all."

But Ernie was stirred up now. "Oh, is that so? Well, listen to this. I don't remember any Hezekiah Smith or Ella whatever-your-name-is, and you look about as familiar as a Dementor's Patronus to me. I don't have anything to do with any of this mess, so just leave me alone!"

Michael shot up out of his seat, catching Ernie's arm before the latter could walk away. "Ernie, believe me, we're on your side. You don't have to be afraid of us."

Ernie looked unconvinced and terrified, so Penelope continued, "All we want to know is if we can trust you or not."

"Trust me?" Ernie echoed, his defensive expression morphing into one of confusion. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Michael and Penelope exchanged a look, and Michael nodded affirmatively as Ernie looked on in bewilderment.

"We're from the Order, Ernie," Penelope said. "The Order is still alive."

* * *

"Hannah!" Ernie shouted, shoving aside a disgruntled customer to the Leaky Cauldron. "Hannah, where are you?"

Penelope and Michael followed close behind him as he weaved in and out of the crowded tables at the pub. Ernie was beside himself with excitement at discovering that the Order – and so many of his friends whom he had thought were dead – were alive and in need of his help. Ernie had insisted on going straight to the Leaky Cauldron to tell Hannah the news, a sentiment that Penelope and Michael had reluctantly accepted.

Ernie's eyes lit up when he found Hannah, her long blonde hair pulled up into a bun and a tired smile on her face. She nodded to Michael and Penelope as Ernie hauled them up to the bar Hannah stood behind.

"Hannah, I have incredible news," Ernie practically shouted. "I –"

Michael shushed his friend with a hand gesture. "Ernie, not here."

Ernie thought for a second and nodded, leaning in to the counter and motioning for Hannah to come closer. She did so, eyeing Michael and Penelope suspiciously and looking confused at Ernie's enthusiasm. "Hannah," Ernie said in a quieter tone, "do you have some place where we can talk privately?"

Hannah raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm running a business, Ernie. I can't just rush off and leave my customers."

Ernie gave a frustrated sigh, reached across the counter, and grabbed Hannah's shoulders, pulling her close enough that he could whisper in her ear. Michael and Penelope watched awkwardly from Ernie's side, but Hannah's eyes widened after a moment, and she gave the pair an astonished look.

"How is it possible?" Hannah whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She turned her gaze back on Ernie and said in a low voice, "Give me five minutes, and I'll meet you in Knockturn Alley."

* * *

Hermione had managed to avoid Draco all day, hoping not to have to talk about the whole Horcrux situation for awhile. But it wasn't to be, for no sooner had she come down the staircase to the first floor, spellbook tucked under her arm with the intent of studying up on anything she could find, did she see Draco himself, his back to her as he faced the door of the entry way.

Hermione thought about just turning around and going to her room to read before he noticed her, but she decided against it and continued down the steps. Draco didn't turn around or give any indication that he knew she was there, but when the reached the doorway of the living room, he suddenly spoke.

"Granger." His voice startled her just a bit, and she turned to face him, his eyes still locked on the door to the outside.

"Malfoy," she replied softly. "What are you looking for?"

His voice held traces of irritation, and he restlessly tapped his foot on the floor. "The two sods who claim to be my friends but who decided not to show up today with my floorplan. It's been a day and a half, and there's been no sign of Blaise or Theodore."

Hermione furrowed her brow and took a step toward Draco. "I hope nothing's happened to them."

Her comment made Draco turn an amused smile on her. "Don't tell me you're starting to grow fond of two more despicable Slytherins, Granger."

His tone was teasing, so Hermione chuckled and replied, "I guess they've grown on me a little. Certainly helps knowing they could be my link to the Order."

"I've been thinking about that," Draco answered, turning to face her with a serious expression. "From some of the things they told me the other day, it sounds like something's been stirred up in the Ministry. Thicknesse knows there's a mole, so he's got everything practically on lockdown. I pray to heaven that floorplan doesn't get discovered by him."

Hermione frowned. "Are you positive Theodore had it?"

Draco shrugged. "Who else? Besides, he's got no reason to lie about it that I know of."

"Say the floorplan did fall into enemy hands. What would happen then?"

"Lots of things," Draco said. "First, they would probably question Theodore, Blaise, and anybody associated with them to get as much information as they could. Once they found out it belonged to me, they would go crazy trying to figure out who created the portkey."

"Didn't you create it?" Hermione asked.

"No, Dennis did. It was before I was caught, so I was the only one who used it, but the portkey was his idea. That's what worries me." Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If they can somehow trace it to Dennis, it would incriminate him as my partner-in-crime. I know you said he was captured, but as long as no one finds out his connection to me or the underground movement, he's safe enough."

"How much do Blaise and Theodore know about Dennis and the underground?" Hermione queried. "If they know too much, they could be put under Veritaserum or Legilimency and save the Ministry the trouble of tracing Dennis' magic."

"That's why I've been so careful," Draco replied, sounding slightly less worried at the thought. "Blaise and Theodore know just enough to get by. I'm not even sure if they know Katie Bell is the mole. They might have figured it out by now, but I haven't told them. It's just too dangerous. As far as I know, they don't know anything about Dennis' involvement with the underground."

"Good," Hermione replied. She was quiet for a moment before adding, "It seems you've thought of everything."

He gave a humorless laugh. "I've certainly had time to think. If you think it's dull here now, you should have seen it the seven years before you came."

Hermione shook her head. "My time here has been anything but boring, if you'll recall."

"That's true." Draco simply looked at her for a moment, her eyes cast to the floor and her fingers playing at the edge of the book she was holding. "I'm sorry I sprung that news on you the way I did the other night, Hermione." She looked up at him, and he continued, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "I wasn't planning on telling you, but I'm almost glad I did. It'll give you some time to process it before anything actually has to happen."

He was skirting around the words, and they both knew it. She didn't give him a chance to elaborate. "I'm not going to give up so easily, Draco," she said resolutely. "I've been thinking, and there has to be some way to get around this."

"Get around it?" Draco echoed. "Granger, I've spent seven years thinking of ways out of dying. It's just the only way. If Voldemort is to be defeated, I have to die first."

"I know that," Hermione declared. "But I did a lot of research on Horcruxes when Harry and Ron and I were searching for Voldemort's first set. If there's one thing that's for certain about magic, it's that there's always some kind of reversal. Maybe there's some way we could kill the Horcrux inside of you but let the rest of you live on. Maybe we could somehow transfer the Horcrux to something else and destroy that. Maybe –"

"Slow down, Granger," Draco said, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. She tried not to react to his touch, staring straight into his crystal-clear eyes instead. "I know you're trying to find a way around the spell, but believe me, this is it. I'm a doomed man, and I have been ever since I made the decision to join Voldemort. And think about it this way: death is almost an escape for me. Even if we did find a way so I could live after the Horcrux is destroyed, what kind of life could I live? My face is so disfigured I'd probably be shot down by some well-meaning wizard who thought I was a beast from the forest. Besides, I'm known as a traitor to both sides. Whether I've helped the Order or not, I've done enough wrongs to spend the rest of my life atoning for them. And there's always the off chance that Voldemort's death won't break the spell on the house, and I'll still be stuck here, and so will you. When I die, you'll be free, Voldemort will be vulnerable, the Wizarding World will have a chance to start over, and I'll have finally paid the price for my wrongs."

Hermione felt tears flowing freely down her cheeks as Draco spoke. He was so resigned to his fate, and it broke her heart. If only the Order could see him now, broken and ready to sacrifice himself for others. Was it even possible that this was the same arrogant git she had despised at Hogwarts? The same Death Eater who had unflinchingly killed his former teachers and friends? A lump caught in her throat, and she fought to keep her voice steady when she spoke.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, "I have made a promise to myself that if there is any way on this whole earth that I can find to save you, I will do it. If I have to die myself, I'm going to let you finish your redemption. You've come so far, and I believe you can right this. I'll do everything I can to keep you alive."

Draco didn't say anything, but his hands tightened on her shoulders, and his eyes spoke volumes to her weary soul. It was enough to make Hermione's knees go weak.

She finally found her voice. "I've been scouring the books in my room and the tower, but none of them have anything even close to Horcruxes or counter-curses or anything like that. I'll keep looking though, and I'll let you know –"

Draco silenced her with a quick shake of his head. "Come with me," he told her, taking her hand in one of his.

* * *

"Theodore Nott, you have done some utterly stupid things since I've known you, but this is more than I even thought you were capable of."

Theodore shook his head, something that was difficult to do since his head was resting on his forearms on his office desk. Blaise had paid him a visit at the _Daily Prophet_ , suspicious after Theodore didn't show outside Draco's house the previous night. After hearing Theodore's story about losing the floorplan at Grimmauld Place – to Cho Chang, of all people! – Blaise was livid.

"It wasn't my fault." Theodore's voice was muffled, but Blaise had no trouble hearing him.

"Well, then, whose fault was it?" Blaise demanded, pacing Theodore's office anxiously. He had put a silencing charm around the room so that no one could hear their conversation, but he felt capable of screaming loud enough to break the spell himself. "Did someone tell you to go to Grimmauld Place? And, while there, did someone tell you to take the floorplan along, because why not? Did this same person tell you it would be fine to leave the floorplan lying on the ground in plain view while you investigate a stranger skulking around at night? Is that it, Nott? You're such an idiot."

Theodore finally raised his head and looked at Blaise with eyes that looked as though they hadn't seen sleep in days. "Blaise, I didn't mean to lose the map. If I had known what was going to happen, I wouldn't even have gone."

"Yeah, and if I had known Voldemort was going to take over, I would have joined the Order while we were at Hogwarts." Blaise's voice dripped with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

"At least the Order has the floorplan!" Theodore shouted back. "It's not like Thicknesse is the one who got hold of it. It was Cho Chang, and she's got to be with the Order."

"What if she's not?"

"Who else would she be with? She's certainly not working for the Ministry."

"Fine," Blaise conceded. "But what if it wasn't really her? What if it was someone using Polyjuice to look like her?"

Theodore gave Blaise a scornful look. "Who would voluntarily disguise themselves as a war criminal?"

Blaise nodded and threw himself into a chair by Theodore's desk. He few quiet for a few minutes before asking, "Theodore, are you positive that you've checked everywhere?"

Theodore sighed again, lowing his head onto his arms again. "What do you think I've been doing for the past two days? It's all I've thought about. I can't think of any single way to get in touch with the Order, especially now that the Katie Bell news is everywhere. I've already been given two assignments here at the _Prophet_ on Bell, and I haven't even started them."

Blaise leaned forward. "Granger."

Theodore looked up. "What about Granger?"

"She can tell us how to get in touch with the Order." Blaise's eyes burned with intensity. "Theodore, we have to make a move, and the best way to do it is through Granger."

"But if I talk to Granger, I'll have to tell Draco about the floorplan," Theodore muttered.

"So be it. You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out."

"Thanks ever so much, old buddy," Theodore said sarcastically. "I can't do it. Not just yet."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "What difference does it make? Today, tomorrow, or a week from now, you're not going to get the floorplan without talking to Granger first. Just tell Draco the truth."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he'll think I've failed him!"

"You have!"

"I told you, it's not my fault!"

"It is your fault! If you hadn't lied and said you didn't have the floorplan with you when we were there on Wednesday –"

"Do you think I planned on this?"

"You never plan on anything! Well, Theodore Nott, Draco is my friend, and if he's your friend, you'll go over there and tell him the truth and beg his forgiveness!"

Theodore buried his head again, all out of arguments. "I just can't do it, Blaise."

Blaise sighed, looking disgusted yet somehow sympathetic. "Then I will."

Theodore's head jerked up for the third time. "No! Blaise, no. If it has to be done, I'll do it myself."

"Oh, really?" Blaise mocked.

"Yeah." Theodore gave him a pleading look. "Just give me one more day to search. Maybe I'll find something."

"Theo–"

Theodore set his jaw. "One more day."

Blaise held his defensive glare a moment longer and then sighed. He could never remember beating Theodore at a battle of wills. "Fine, Theo. One more day, and then we tell Draco what's happened."

* * *

Luna Lovegood sat at the conference table in the main hall of the Fortress, humming and running over her list of protective wards around the manor. Parvati Patil was sorting through a cabinet full of potions, which were running dangerously low, when she asked, "How long have they been gone?"

Luna looked up distractedly and took a moment before replying, "I'm not sure. Probably close to six hours by now."

"What could possibly take six hours?" Parvati asked worriedly.

Luna shrugged. "I don't know. Neville said to send a search party after them if they weren't back by midnight, and they have –" Luna pulled out her watch – "about seven more hours."

"Seven hours," Parvati repeated, plopping down in a chair opposite Luna. "The whole Fortress could be massacred in half that time."

Luna smiled softly. "You don't have to think of it that way, Parvati. We're on the winning side, remember?"

Parvati scoffed. "Oh, to have your optimism, Luna. The winning side happens to be running dangerously low on provisions. Someone's going to have to cook up another batch of Polyjuice Potion, or we'll be out in no time at all."

"Hermione always did that," Luna remarked quietly.

"Yeah." Parvati was unusually quiet. "I wonder where she is, if she's even alive."

Luna stared off into space for a short time, deep in thought. "I think she is. Hermione is a survivor. If anyone can make it out there alone for this long, it's her."

Parvati shrugged, resting her chin on her hand and letting her eyes close. Luna resumed her list-checking and humming, and all was peaceful for a little while.

Then the dam burst.

The entire conference room swirled with color as five people Apparated simultaneously. Luna and Parvati leaped to their feet, and Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane ran in from the next room to see what the commotion was. Everyone was talking at once, the five new arrivals chattering and laughing in delight. Neville sent Parvati and Dean to round up the rest of the Order, and within two minutes the Order was gathered in the conference room to hear the news. When everyone had taken a seat, Neville, still wearing that fellow Norville's face, spoke.

"I don't even know what to tell you all," he said, a smile playing across his lips, "except that this has been the most successful mission we've had in years." A triumphant cheer rippled through the room, and Neville continued, sounding more encouraged than he had in a long time. "The Wizarding World has come alive since Katie defected. I don't think anyone realized that there was any kind of hope of a fight against Voldemort, but this news has spread like wildfire and affected everyone. They can't stop talking about it; it's all in the newspapers and on every poster. It does bring an element of danger now that so many people know for sure that we exist, but it's also brought hope, joy, and a willingness to fight that I've never seen before. We've been fighting for so long against the odds with no hope in sight, but I can tell you all without a doubt that our time is coming faster than we ever thought!"

The cheer started again, louder and more celebratory, and the Order members laughed, cried, hugged, jumped, and screamed for joy. Neville let them carry on for a few minutes, and when the noise died down, he announced, "Now, if we'll all listen, there's a lot more news and all of it important. Michael?"

Michael and Penelope stood from their chairs, their disguises mostly faded and their smiles wide enough to break their faces open. Penelope nodded at Michael, who began excitedly, "We definitely found Dennis' location. He's in Felix Goyle's house. We didn't get to talk to him, but we got a glimpse of him through a window. He's obviously without magic and bound to the house, but he seems unharmed, and we've pulled off more dangerous missions than this. We should have him out in a day or two if we plan it right."

The Order was in a cheering mood, for they all started up again as soon as Michael finished talking. Penelope had to shout to be heard over their voices. "That's not all!" she declared. "This is the most important news of all. We were scouting the area around Goyle's house when we happened upon Ernie MacMillan outside a shop. We approached him and made him mad enough to basically admit that he was on our side, and he couldn't believe it was really us and that we were from the Order. He took us to the Leaky Cauldron – which Hannah Abbott owns, by the way – and she's part of the underground movement! She's a member! Ernie helps, too, but Hannah has been directly involved for years."

"Are you serious?" Oliver Wood asked, looking awestruck.

"Yes!" Penelope squealed. "We now have a contact in the underground movement!"

"Did Hannah say why the underground hasn't tried to get in touch with us all these years?" Millicent Bulstrode asked. "I mean, they've existed for nearly as long as we have, but they've never tried to collaborate with us."

"If anything, they've kept themselves hidden from us," Seamus added.

Michael nodded. "It's been too dangerous. I don't think we ever realized just how much danger Katie Bell put herself in to be our informant. Most of the underground members are just everyday citizens who wanted to join the fight against Voldemort. They're almost more secretive than we are, if you can believe it. That's how they've lasted this long without being caught."

"What exactly are their plans?" Neville asked seriously. "We've all risked our necks to rescue slaves, foil Ministry missions, and keep ourselves secret. What have these people been doing?"

"We don't know exactly," Penelope responded. "But we're going to find out."

"When?" George Weasley asked.

Penelope and Michael shared a knowing smile. "As soon as we rescue Dennis, I'd say," Michael remarked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angelina Johnson demanded.

Penelope couldn't keep from laughing in euphoria. "It means that Dennis is the leader of the underground movement!"

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Penelope and Michael giggling, as the rest of the Order was stunned into silence. Finally, Fleur Weasley found her voice and said, "Ees thees a joke?"

"It's no joke, Fleur," Michael smiled. "Hannah told us. He was captured about three months ago and sold in a slave market, but he's been leading the movement for years. Kinda makes all the pieces fall into place, doesn't it?"

No one knew what to say for several moments, but finally everyone was talking at once again. Neville shushed them once more. "There's more news, guys," he announced.

"About Hermione?" George asked.

"Yes," Padma Patil answered for Neville. She and Nigel stood, each holding a stack of papers. "Here we have the list of sales for all slaves sold in the last four months. It was murder to get them, but Nigel and I managed."

"Well?" Cho asked.

Padma shuffled through her stack of papers and selected the one she was looking for. "It says here that a fugitive muggleborn named Amelia Finberry was bought on September 15, 2005, by Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy."

"What does that have to do with Hermione?" George asked, sounding frustrated.

"Just this." Padma tossed the paper at him, and it slid across the table to land in front of him. "Look at that picture and tell me that isn't Hermione Granger."

George took one look at the paper before him before facing Neville. "Well? We know where she is. Let's move."

"There's just one more thing, George," Neville said. "The thing Cho brought back from Grimmauld Place."

"What did you find out about it?" Cho asked excitedly.

"Not much," Neville admitted. He pulled the paper from his pocket and examined it. "I took it to Borgin and Burkes to see if anyone knew anything about it, and the owner said it was the floorplan to a house. Apparently, several of these kinds of homes were built around the same time, so it could belong to any one of them. He said Dolohov owns one, and Malfoy, too."

"Narcissa Malfoy?" Seamus asked.

"No, Draco," Neville replied. "It would seem that the reason no one's heard about him in years is that he and Voldemort had a sort of a falling out, you might say. Voldemort cursed him to have to stay in his house forever, which means this floorplan probably isn't his."

"Why?" Cho asked.

Neville frowned. "How would this get out of Malfoy's house if he can't leave?"

"No," Cho amended, "I meant, why did Voldemort curse Malfoy? I thought Malfoy was a Death Eater."

"He was," Neville said. "But he isn't anymore. The man at Borgin and Burkes just said that Malfoy did something to upset Voldemort."

"What a surprise," Angelina muttered.

"Why wouldn't Voldemort just kill Malfoy instead of imprisoning him?" Nigel asked.

Neville shrugged. "I don't know, guys. I wasn't looking for answers on Malfoy, just Hermione, Dennis, and this floorplan."

"I still say it was Theodore Nott who I saw at Grimmauld Place," Cho stated.

"And I still say it's impossible," Dean retorted.

Neville sighed, rubbing his face wearily. The Polyjuice was wearing off, and he could feel his own face stretching back into place. "Let's not get into that again. There's no way of knowing if it was Theodore or not, and even if it was, it won't do us any good. Nott's on Voldemort's side, so we don't dare try to question him. Let's just be glad we've made such big progress today."

"Who are we going after first?" Millicent asked. "Dennis or Hermione?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Dennis' situation seems to be under control for now. Let's worry about Hermione." He looked around the room thoughtfully, making plans in his head. "We'll have to be secretive about it, so we can't all go. George, you lead this one," he said, a mischievous smile on his face. "I think you're the most anxious of all of us to get to Hermione."

George tried to hide his smile by looking away. "I'll do it."

"Good." Neville rubbed his hands together. "It would seem that it's time to pay a visit to Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy."

* * *

"Don't worry, Mrs. Malfoy, I'll be in contact with you as soon as I find anything out."

"Excellent." Narcissa gave Blaise a stern gaze. She had paid him a surprise visit at his home, just minutes after he arrived from talking to Theodore. "I'm not pleased that my son has been unnecessarily endangered."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Blaise said apologetically, "but Theodore and I are doing everything we can to track the portkey down."

"Where does the portkey lead?"

Blaise hesitated, remembering Draco's specific instructions to keep Narcissa as sheltered as possible for her own safety. "I don't know that I should say –"

Narcissa's expression turned harder. "I am Draco's mother, Blaise. I'm not going to betray him."

"Oh, I know that, Mrs. Malfoy!" Blaise exclaimed. He always felt under-intelligent when talking to Draco's mother. "It's just that… well, Draco has asked me not to endanger you by telling you too much."

"Nonsense, I know what I'm doing." Narcissa flashed a confident smile. "If you will recall, I've survived in this world longer than you have, Blaise Zabini."

Blaise sighed. _Outwitted again_. "The portkey leads to Grimmauld Place."

Narcissa frowned. "Grimmauld Place? But that's… that's where Draco was caught, is it not?"

"Yes," Blaise nodded. "And his contact could be traced through the portkey."

"Who is his contact?" Narcissa waited for an answer, and when none came, she sighed. "I suppose if Draco won't tell me, you won't, either."

Blaise gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. It's for your own safety; it really is."

Narcissa sighed again, a sentimental smile crossing her face. "Many the times I've said that very thing to Draco. I suppose the tables have turned quite severely, haven't they?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaise replied. "I'm doing all I can, I promise."

Narcissa's face relaxed a bit, and she allowed a smile. "Thank you, Blaise. I appreciate everything you've been doing. You're a great comfort to me these days."

Blaise smiled sadly. "I'm glad to hear that. I envy Draco having a mother who cares so deeply about him."

Narcissa's face resumed its normal reserved expression. "And I consider myself fortunate to have a young man whom I can consider my second son." Blaise started to speak, but Narcissa continued, "And tell my third son that he had better find Draco's floorplan."

Blaise laughed hollowly. "He's all but turned the world inside out trying to find it."

Narcissa nodded, taking a step towards the door to indicate that she was ready to leave. "Thank you again, Blaise. Don't endanger yourself trying to help Draco and I. The Ministry has their eye on all of us."

"The same to you," Blaise replied. "Would you like for me to see you home?"

"It's not necessary, thank you, dear," she said sincerely. "Goodnight."

Blaise waved a goodbye to her as she Apparated away. Narcissa's words gave him the incentive he needed to make his decision. Theodore or not, he was going to go to Draco's house the first thing in the morning and find out exactly where the Order was hiding out.

* * *

"Fiendfyre is another option," Hermione mused, flipping through the pages of a worn book. "It can be used in the place of Basilisk venom to destroy a Horcrux."

"Marvelous," Draco spat. "I can be burned to a crisp rather than consumed by a poison."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look but withheld comment. She and Draco were currently sitting in one of the locked third-floor rooms, which Hermione had given up on trying to get into. It was, however, surprisingly clean, and every wall was lined with a wall of books. According to Draco, he had collected books for years and stored them in this library. It, along with the laboratory/basement, had become his safe haven after the curse. When Hermione brought up her lack of study materials, Draco had immediately taken her up to the library, and she had nearly fainted when she entered. She hadn't seen so many books since Hogwarts burned to the ground. She was vaguely irritated with him for not showing her sooner, but it was hard to hold a grudge after the past few days.

Hermione set the spellbook aside and began thumbing through another, her thoughts not on the book itself. Numerous as they might be, the books in Draco's library held little information that was useful for their situation, but Hermione was determined to make the best of it.

Heaving a sigh, she set the second book aside and rubbed her tired eyes. They had been researching for hours, only stopping once to eat a two-minute dinner. Draco noticed her actions and set his own book aside. "No luck, eh?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes. "Nothing I didn't already know."

"Ready to give up?"

"No." Hermione opened her eyes and fixed him with a steely gaze. "I will stay up here all night and all day if I have to. I am not going to give up."

Draco shook his head in amusement, leaning back in his chair and staring at the rows of books surrounding them. "Gryffindor spirit never dies, I suppose."

Hermione didn't answer but picked her book back up and started flipping through it again, seeing nothing of use. Draco glanced around a bit longer before standing and stretching. Hermione's eyes seared into the spellbook hard enough to bore holes in it in an attempt not to glance at Draco. If he noticed, he didn't let on, instead walking toward the window on the side wall.

"What a lovely view," he remarked dryly. "Vines and thorns. Really puts a man in the Christmas spirit."

Hermione smiled and stood to join him. Her eyes widened in wonderment when she reached the window. "Draco, look! Is that snow?"

"Where?" He strained to see.

"Here, look through the spaces between the vines." Draco followed the line of her hand and narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the skinny gaps in the vines. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I think I see it. Shame it can't get through."

Hermione didn't reply. As she stared out the window, her face took on a dreamlike quality. "I always loved the snow. When I was a little girl, my parents and I used to build a snowman every year and put my clothes on him. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen." Her expression softened. "I wonder if they still make a snowman, now that I'm not there. They don't even remember having me."

Draco lowered his eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry."

She raised her chin and squared her shoulders, looking out the window again with a brave expression. "It had to be done. It's painful, but it's better than knowing they're in danger because of me. They're safe this way."

"I understand," Draco replied. "I've tried to protect my mum ever since my father died. She deserves better than he ever gave her. She deserves a better son than me, but I guess I've done my best."

"I'm sure she appreciates it," Hermione said softly. They stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each staring out the window and pretending they could see the snow. Hermione finally ventured, "I don't mean to sound nosy, but I'm curious. What happened to your father?"

Draco's eyes clouded as he recalled an obviously painful memory. Hermione instantly regretted asking, but she didn't say anything. Draco cleared his throat and spoke with a thickness to his voice. "He drank himself to death, more or less. He got more and more unstable after Voldemort took over, and he was jealous of me and my favor with Voldemort. He attacked me once, but I managed to hold him off. It happened one night when he went out to a pub. He was drunker than I'd ever seen him, and he picked a fight with some wizards at the bar. They ganged up on him and massacred him. I couldn't believe it when I heard. It always seemed like he'd live forever." He set his jaw firmly. "I'm glad he's gone, though. He was never good for anything but abusing people. I always used to ask Mum if he ever hurt her, and she always said no. I'm afraid he did, though. She was just too loyal to ever incriminate him."

Hermione didn't know what to say, but she found her voice to say, "I'm so sorry, Draco." He didn't make a sound, so she quietly took his hand in a comforting gesture.

Several quiet minutes later, Draco tugged on her hand lightly and said, "Come here. I want to show you something."

Hermione let Draco lead her behind a few sets of bookcases to a darkened corner of the library. A small, carved wooden table was nestled in the shadows, and Draco pulled it out into the light with a squeak of its time-rusted feet. Hermione gasped a little when she saw what sat on the table.

A red rose, in full bloom in the dead of winter. The rose was encased in a glass dome, floating several inches off the surface of the table and sparkling with a sheen that told Hermione the rose had been enchanted somehow. It was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She felt an inexplicable pull toward the flower, and she cautiously laid her hand on the glass dome. It felt alive, humming under her palm, and she looked at Draco in wonder.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Draco leaned against the wall casually. "My mum enchanted it. Apparently, it's one of the roses that used to grow around the house before the curse. When my mum found me, she took the rose and enchanted it to live forever, sort of as a token to remember the day by. She says it symbolizes hope that one day I'll be free. I don't think she realizes what we're up against."

Hermione smiled distractedly, her eyes transfixed on the rose. "It reminds me of the fairytale Beauty and the Beast. The Beast had an enchanted rose that would bloom until his twenty-first birthday, and when the last petal fell, he would remain a beast forever."

"Did he?" Draco asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head fondly. "No. Beauty declared her true love for him just before he died, and it saved his life and turned him back into a prince."

Draco's eyes were thoughtful as he listened to Hermione talk. "I've never heard that story before."

"It's a muggle fairytale," she explained. "It's French, I believe. It's one of my favorites."

"Maybe that's where Mum got the idea," he said. "I don't know why she would know about a muggle fairytale, but she's always surprising me."

Hermione smiled at him, pulling her hand away from the glass dome. She still felt drawn in by it somehow, but she fought the urge and turned to face Draco. "You know, I once had a dream that I was the beauty in the story." Draco looked at her curiously, and she continued, smiling fondly as she remembered her childhood dream. "I wore a long yellow dress, and I danced with a prince, and I lived happily ever after in a castle. Funny how when you're little, anything seems possible, doesn't it?"

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Well," he stated, "I don't have a yellow dress for you, and I'm certainly not a prince in a castle, but if you want to dance, you're welcome to dance with the beast."

Hermione laughed at that, and Draco laughed with her. "I don't know how to dance," she chuckled.

"Oh, yes, you do," Draco countered, pointing his finger at her. "I saw you whirling around the Yule Ball with Krum. You can dance and dance well. Hold on a minute." Hermione watched curiously as he rounded one of the bookcases and scanned the covers of each one carefully. After a moment, he found the one he was looking for and set it on the table they had been sitting around. Draco opened the book gently, and when it rested all the way open on the table, soft music floated through the library.

"It's enchanted," Draco said unnecessarily with a smile. "Pansy gave it to me years ago, and I never had the heart to throw it out."

Hermione laughed as Draco gave an exaggerated bow and offered his hand to her. She took it as gracefully as she could and tried to keep breathing when he stepped forward and held her in Proper Dance Position One. Neither of them was a perfect dancer by any means, but Hermione couldn't help but smile when Draco tried to twirl her and accidentally elbowed her in the face. She retaliated by accidentally stepping on his feet numerous times, but they managed to exude a certain amount of grace as they swayed back and forth in a makeshift waltz.

"So, Pansy?" Hermione asked, a smile playing at her lips.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah. She and I used to go together back at Hogwarts, and she was always wanting to dance. I guess she thought a musical book might make me want to."

"Did it?"

"No," he snorted. "She was a terrible dancer. Always all over whoever she was dancing with, and trying to make witty remarks the whole time. She drove me crazy."

"Why'd you date her, then?" Hermione laughed.

He shrugged again. "I guess she was the only one I could even imagine being with. It was never a good relationship, but it was a relationship, and that's all I cared about. I was feeling pretty alone, so just being able to say I had a girlfriend was enough for me."

Hermione nodded, understanding the feeling but not wanting to say so. Another thought came to mind. "What does Pansy do now?"

Draco's eyes darkened again, and Hermione felt him imperceptibly squeeze her hand a little tighter. He wasn't swaying as much, and Hermione let him lead, slowing her own movements down to match his. When he raised his eyes, moisture glistened in the corners and threatened to roll down his cheeks. Hermione had the sudden urge to wipe the tears away, but she fought it.

"Pansy was killed about five years ago." Draco's voice was thick with emotion. "Mum told me about it. She had gotten married to some heir to a fortune, and he was abusive. He killed her and then told everyone she committed suicide." Hermione opened her mouth to offer some comfort, but Draco wasn't finished yet. "I didn't think it would affect me so much. She and I never got along well, and I certainly didn't have any lost love for her, but she was one of my housemates, and I just couldn't believe she was gone like that. She had a good heart under all that bluster; she wanted to be a nurse, I think. She probably would have made a good one if it weren't for her stupid family and husband and reputation…"

Hermione felt tears of her own surfacing, which surprised her. She and Pansy had hated one another at Hogwarts, but even she felt some amount of sadness at hearing Pansy's demise, especially since Draco had been so affected by it. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't know." He didn't reply, his swaying all but stopped as the charmed music quieted to a whisper. Hermione thought hard about anything more to say, and she finally decided to share her experiences, too.

"Ron and I were in love," she said quietly, and Draco looked at her with a curious expression. "We bickered all through school and always had major differences, but there was always some sort of spark between us. We kissed at the Battle of Hogwarts. It was strange and untimely, but I'm glad we did. Voldemort killed him just a few hours later. Ron was one of the first to be caught. He was trying to protect Ginny. I'm glad I didn't have to see it; I don't know that I could have stood it." She blinked back her tears valiantly. "I don't know that a relationship would have worked out between us, mainly because we were so different, but it's hard not to wonder after all that happened."

Draco was quiet for several minutes, trying to think of anything he could conceivably say after so many years of hating Ron Weasley. "Weren't you engaged to someone else?" he finally ventured.

"Not at the same time," she quipped, smiling through her emotion. "His name was Edmund. He was from Wales. He came and helped the Order for about a year. He and I were sort of unofficially engaged, you might say. But I told you what happened to him. He committed suicide to avoid getting caught with information. It's strange; I never thought I could fall in love after Harry and Ron and Ginny and everyone had been taken from me, but Edmund made it easy. I think we would have been happy together if we had had the chance."

Hermione looked so downcast, so broken from her memories, and it broke Draco's heart. He knew that it was his group of people that had done so much to hurt Hermione, and in that moment he would have died a death for every loved one of Hermione's he had killed, if just to bring them back for her. It was in that moment that he realized with a jolt that he loved her. Of course, it was ridiculous to imagine that she felt the same way, but he couldn't deny the feeling that was welling up inside him, terrifying him but igniting him at the same time.

Hermione wanted to add something to her talk about Edmund. She wanted to say, _But now I've found you, and that makes the pain of losing Ron and Edmund and all the rest a little more bearable_. She wanted nothing more than to reassure him and comfort him, but she found that all her years of fighting the war of emotion had made her unsure of how to even say _I love you_. So she didn't.

Draco was trying to hold his breath as Hermione slowly raised her eyes to his, memorizing her face as she stared into his very soul. He knew without a doubt that this is the face he would see as he took his last breath. The moment hung heavy in the air, and Draco refused to let it pass.

When he lowered his head to be on level with hers, he told himself that it was to comfort her and let her know he cared, not to silently scream _I love you_ in the only way he knew how. When his hands moved to cradle her face, he told himself that he should back out before it was too late. But he didn't listen, and all thoughts of talking himself out of it vanished when his lips touched hers.

Hermione felt a jolt of electricity run through her body, and she wondered if Draco could feel how rigid she had gone when he kissed her. A kiss had been the last thing she expected at that moment, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Her realization of her love had been too recent to tell him, but she tried to tell him through her kiss.

Draco had just started to pull away, realizing that Hermione wasn't a willing party, when he felt her lips move in response and her hand rest on the side of his neck. Seizing the moment, Draco wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could, feeling her arms slide around his neck. Their kiss was healing, entrancing, and innocent, yet it held such a passion and intensity that Draco could feel his heart pounding in his throat. _This_ was the moment he had been waiting his whole life for.

The kiss lasted an eternity to Hermione, and for the first time in her life, she couldn't form any coherent thoughts the entire time. Her complete attention was focused on Draco and the way he was making her whole world spin. She felt breathless, dizzy, and utterly overwhelmed. It was intoxicating.

Once eternity had passed and rolled on, Draco felt himself pulling away from Hermione, his brain screaming at him to do the opposite. The look on her face was utter shock, and Draco immediately felt guilty. What right did he have to kiss the golden angel of Gryffindor, the lioness of the rebellion, after all he had done? He should be at her feet, begging her to forgive his transgressions and let him die a miserable, lonely death. She deserved so much better than him.

"Forgive me," was all that came out. Draco realized that Hermione thought he was asking forgiveness for the kiss, but he was too overwhelmed to correct her.

Hermione finally found her voice and shook her head lightly. "You don't have to apologize."

Draco suddenly realized that the music had stopped, and he stepped back, out of her reach but still mentally wrapped up in the essence of her. Large brown eyes stared back at him, but he couldn't read their expression. He was painfully aware of his own skin, how mottled and horrendous it must look to Hermione. He had never actually read Beauty and the Beast, but he couldn't image a beast more hideous than the one he had made himself into.

Little did he know that the exact opposite thought had crossed Hermione's mind. Had his scars always been so insignificantly small and pale? They were the same as they had always been, but Hermione realized with astounding clarity that his scars were a part of what she loved about him. They symbolized his desire to change, and he wore them as a badge of honor. Perhaps he didn't see them that way, but Hermione couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than his scarred, longing face.

The moment slipped away, and neither of them felt it when it happened, merely felt a sense of loss when they realized that they had been silently staring at one another for several minutes. They awkwardly stammered, shuffled their feet, put their hands in their pockets, but the moment had passed and they had to deal with the fallout.

They went back to studying the spellbooks, and they stayed there all night, though any hope of retaining information had been lost.

Narcissa Malfoy arrived in her entry hall in a swirl of color, taking a moment to gain her balance before rubbing her eyes wearily. The entire spectacle with Katie Bell should have relieved the Ministry, but it had only made them more antsy. Closer scrutiny had been placed on everyone directly or indirectly involved with the Ministry, and Narcissa was exhausted. All she wanted to do now was get some much-needed sleep.

She quickly pulled out her wand and dimmed the candles around the entry hall, making her way down the hallway toward her bedroom. But as she passed the entrance to her parlor, Narcissa Malfoy received the surprise of her life.

At least a dozen young people stood gathered in the parlor, anger and resolve painting every one of their faces. A tall, red-haired young man stepped forward and, before Narcissa could think or react, had shouted, "Accio wand!" and had her wand in one hand and his own in the other.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said, ice tinging the edges of his voice and chilling Narcissa to the bone, "we're here for Hermione Granger."

* * *

A/N: Hello again! Thank you so much for reading my story! Reviews are appreciated and treasured by yours truly. To all my followers, reviewers, and readers, you absolutely make my day and give me the incentive to keep writing.

Also, school's out now, so I can devote more time to writing. Hopefully, this story will be completed over the summer, but even if it's not, I won't give up on it. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's an uncompleted story.

Anyway, thank you again for reading and tell me what you think of the story so far and where you think it's going. Bye for now!


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